


The Long Way Home

by slanted-HP-knitting (SlantedKnitting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Depression, Drunk Sex, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 62,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/pseuds/slanted-HP-knitting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>It's immediately after the war and Harry has almost completely removed himself from the wizarding world; he lives in Muggle London and rarely sees his magical friends. One day, he meets a foreign wizard who pulls him out of his shell, but their budding relationship tears apart his already rocky friendships with the Weasleys.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2011 Harry/Ron Big Bang challenge on LJ.
> 
>  
> 
> **Fantastic art by[kath_ballantyne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kath_ballantyne).**

Harry sighed into his cup of water and stared mournfully down at the sandwich on his plate. He couldn't remember the last time he had been properly hungry. There were other things besides food to occupy him – like the final death toll of the war, or the Auror sulking on the other side of the cafe, or the upset feeling he constantly had in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

He picked up his sandwich and forced himself to take a bite. The bread felt especially dry in his mouth and he had to take a large gulp of water before he managed to swallow. This day, like many before it, had not been good so far. He had attempted to be social and active, like he did every morning, by going out for a walk through Muggle London. The problem was that he was never alone or free to do as he pleased; Aurors trailed him everywhere he went. They were on the lookout for remaining Death Eaters, convinced that the last of Voldemort's followers would try to kill Harry at last, even if it meant their own downfall.

Harry thought this idea was rubbish, but he had no say in the matter. He wouldn't even begin Auror training until the fall, and it was only July.

"Excuse me?"

Harry looked up in surprise at the man standing by his table. "Er... yes?"

"Is it all right if I sit down?" The man had an accent Harry couldn't quite place, though it reminded him slightly of Viktor Krum.

Too shocked to protest, Harry shrugged and stared at the other man as he placed his sandwich and soda on the table. He set down some full plastic bags on the floor and then took the seat across from Harry.

"I am Yakov Dmitriev," he said, smiling and holding out his hand for Harry to shake. "I was at Hogwarts for the Triwizard."

Harry blinked and dropped Yakov's hand. "Oh," he said, trying to remember any Durmstrang student other than Krum. Yakov's face remained utterly unfamiliar. "Right. I thought I recognized you from somewhere," he lied politely. "I'm Harry... Potter."

Yakov grinned and pulled a tomato slice out of his sandwich to eat. "I know. I hope you don't mind me sitting with you? You looked lonely and I thought... maybe I can say hi."

Harry smiled, amused at Yakov's friendliness. "No, it's perfectly fine. I was getting quite bored."

"Can I ask what you are doing in Muggle London?" Yakov took a large bite of his sandwich and looked expectantly at Harry.

"Oh. Nothing in particular... just having lunch. I didn't feel much like making something for myself. What, er... what about you?"

"I was just buying some groceries." Yakov gestured at the bags on the floor. "And I got hungry."

Harry nodded and fingered his sandwich, debating another bite. "So, er... what have you been doing since the Triwizard? Living in London?"

"Yes. Well, no, I went home for that summer and then came back here in the fall. I work at the Ministry."

"Oh yeah? What do you do there?" Harry took a small bite off his sandwich and found it more agreeable this time.

"I work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It's boring sometimes, but I get to work with wizards from other countries. Slavic countries, mostly. If we do anything with Eastern Europe, I'm usually involved. Because of the languages."

"What languages do you speak?" Harry asked curiously.

Yakov shrugged modestly. "A few. It's not interesting, though."

"Sure it is. I wish I knew another language."

"If you move to another country, then you will learn one."

Harry smiled and drank the rest of his water. "Probably true. Where are you from originally? Bulgaria?"

"Bulgaria? No. I am from Russia."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Russia? Wow. Are there students from a lot of different countries at Durmstrang?"

"Yes," Yakov said casually, pulling apart his sandwich to pick out what he didn't want. "It is different than in Britain. Durmstrang is the best school in Eastern Europe. Though, there are many smaller ones in each country. They will take you just like Hogwarts, but you have to apply to Durmstrang. Not everyone gets accepted."

Harry took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly, thinking this over. "I had no idea," he finally said after swallowing. "I guess no one told us these things at Hogwarts. Do they teach English at Durmstrang, too?"

"Yes, and a few other languages."

"That's neat... we only have Ancient Runes at Hogwarts. Not many people took it."

Yakov shrugged. "All the magical schools are different. I know a lot about them because of my work at the Ministry. Otherwise, I didn't know much about Hogwarts, even when I was there."

Harry nodded and finished off his sandwich. "That was a bit bland," he decided, looking down at the crumbs on his plate.

"Do you want tea?" Yakov asked, leaning slightly across the table.

Harry blinked. "Oh. Er, yeah, I guess."

"Good. We can go to my flat. Do you want to come?"

Harry stared blankly at Yakov, unsure what to make of this invitation from a near stranger. "Er... your flat?" he asked lamely.

"It's down the street. I have really good tea," Yakov grinned. "I will be honored if you come drink it with me. Please?"

"Er," Harry said again, surprised at himself for even considering the offer. Normally, he would turn down such an invitation from someone he didn't know without a second thought. Furthermore, Yakov had gone to Durmstrang, and while Viktor Krum had turned out fine, Harry knew Durmstrang students were taught the Dark Arts and weren't necessarily the most trustworthy people. Who was to say Yakov wasn't a Death Eater trying to lure him into a trap? Harry glanced at the Auror on the other side of the room and frowned. The Auror was watching him and Yakov closely.

"All right," Harry decided, moving his eyes back to Yakov's eager face. "That sounds great."

They stood and left the cafe, Yakov weighed down by heavy groceries bags and Harry with his hands in his pockets.

"I just live down this block." Yakov nodded to the right and Harry turned with him onto a narrow street.

"Can I take one of those bags for you?" Harry asked.

"No, no. It's fine." Yakov glanced behind him several times as they continued walking in amicable silence. "Did you know you are being followed?" he asked in a low voice as they reached his building.

Harry sighed and turned to see the Auror leaning against a tree and pretending to read a newspaper. "Yeah, he's an Auror. I'm... I'm sort of being watched by the Ministry."

Yakov put the bags down to open the door. "Why?"

"I'll explain inside," Harry muttered. "Just hold on a minute." He walked over the Auror and cleared his throat. "I'm going up to my friend's flat."

The Auror pulled the newspaper away from his face and looked skeptically over at Yakov. "Who's your friend?"

"Yakov. I know him from Hogwarts, he was there for the Triwizard Tournament."

"Yakov who?" the Auror growled.

"Yakov... Di...movsky," Harry blurted out, determined not to let this old, lazy Auror ruin his first genuine social activity in days.

Narrowing his eyes, the Auror said, "Okay, then. I'll wait out here. Signal me at the first sign of trouble."

"There won't be any trouble," Harry said defensively. "And you don't have to wait for me. Just go home."

The Auror raised his eyebrows. "That's not part of the deal, Potter. Yakov from the Triwizard Tournament? He's from Durmstrang. That lot's trouble and you know it."

"Yakov isn't trouble," Harry said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "I'll be fine, just go home. I'll Apparate back to my flat from his. There's no need for you to wait."

"There's every need, Potter," the Auror said evenly. "It's my job to wait here and I'm going to do it." He reached out and tapped Harry's shoulder with his wand, which was hidden partially up his sleeve. "And I'll know when you Apparate."

Harry glared furiously at the Auror, his jaw set, but turned and walked back to Yakov without saying anything.

"That man is an Auror?" Yakov asked, holding open the front door for Harry.

Harry picked up Yakov's grocery bags and stepped inside the building. "Yes," he said resentfully. "The Ministry thinks I'm in danger of being attacked by the Death Eaters that are still at large. It's a load of nonsense if you ask me, but no one does, so there you have it."

Yakov took some of the bags out of Harry's hands and led the way up the stairs. "You don't think they will want to hurt you?"

"I'm sure they want to hurt me. I just don't think any of them are stupid enough to try. They're all in hiding, aren't they? Otherwise the Ministry would have caught them by now."

"Do you know how the search is going? For the rest of the Death Eaters?"

"No," Harry grumbled. "I'm not involved in it."

Yakov glanced over his shoulder at Harry as they climbed up another set of stairs. "Why not? I thought the Ministry liked you?"

Harry snorted. "The Minister likes me. The rest of the Ministry... not so much. Besides, I'm not a trained Auror, so I have no business being involved."

"But you killed Voldemort," Yakov said blankly as he opened a door at the top of a landing and gestured Harry into the hallway. "They don't want you involved? You saved all those people, all of us. Aren't you a hero?"

Harry rolled his eyes and followed Yakov toward his flat. "Sure, I'm a hero. I'm too 'reckless' to be much else, though. I'm supposed to start training to become an Auror in September. Some of the department... they're not too happy about it. I don't have my N.E.W.T.s, you see. And I didn't... I mean, I killed Voldemort, sure. But I only used the disarming spell. They're not so impressed by that, either."

Yakov looked disgusted as he unlocked the door to his flat and motioned for Harry to go in before him. "But you said the Minister likes you?" he asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"Yeah. I've known Kingsley for a few years. He knows it wasn't just... dumb luck. You'd think after all this, people would learn to trust me, but the Ministry... well, it's still a corrupt place. Not that you're corrupt," he added with a small smile.

Yakov grinned back. "I know what you mean. Hopefully it will get better soon, now Voldemort is gone for good. Come into the kitchen, please." He nodded toward the kitchen and Harry went to it, placing the grocery bags on the floor by the table.

"I'm sorry I forgot your last name," Harry said a bit sheepishly. "What was it again?"

"Dmitriev," Yakov said firmly, setting down the rest of the bags and moving over to the cupboards. "What tea do you want? Black? Green? White? With berries?"

"Black is fine," Harry said politely. "Whatever you have."

"Yasha?" A deep voice barked from somewhere else in the flat and Harry jumped.

Yakov called back in another language and a moment later, a tall, muscular, blond man came into the kitchen. He looked at Harry for a moment, and then seemed to be hit with a rather violent wave of recognition.

"Excuse me," he said quietly in a thick accent.

"This is my flatmate, Ilya," Yakov said. "Ilya, this is Harry."

Ilya stepped forward to shake Harry's hand. "I'm please to meet you, Harry. I'm sorry, I didn't know we... uh, have guests." He winced slightly and backed away. "I... my English is very bad. I'm sorry. I'm go outside for lunch." He conversed quickly with Yasha in the other language and waved to Harry before leaving the flat.

"Don't mind him," Yakov said cheerily as he filled a kettle and tapped it with his wand. "He's very self-conscious about his English. He's lived here only a few months."

"Is he from Russia, too?" Harry asked. "Was that Russian you were speaking?"

Yakov nodded as he spooned out tea leaves from a box into a tea pot. "Yes, we are both from Russia. He went to Durmstrang, too, but was not at Hogwarts. His English was very bad then and Karkaroff didn't like him. Karkaroff didn't like me either, but he liked my brother a lot, so he took me. It helped my English immensely."

"Have you lived in this flat since you moved here?"

"No." Yakov paused and watched the kettle for a moment. "I... I lived in London, yes. Ilyusha and I moved here, to this flat, when he came to live in London."

"Ilyusha?" Harry asked blankly.

"Ilya, Ilyusha. He's an old friend of mine. I know him even before Durmstrang, back in Moscow. He's very nice, but he's shy and nervous because of his English."

"Your English is very good," Harry said admiringly.

Yakov smiled gratefully. "Thank you. Sometimes I'm not sure about it. I know it is not perfect, but I try. I think it's best to speak with simple sentences, but then I think I sound stupid."

"You don't sound stupid," Harry said emphatically. "Not at all."

Yakov beamed and turned back to the kettle, pouring the now boiling water into the teapot. Harry took the pause in conversation to look around the small, tidy kitchen. There was a window taking up most of one wall that looked out over a small park. Framed photographs, all of them moving, took up the wall opposite the window. He stepped closer to them, seeing that most of the pictures showed Yakov or Ilya with people he assumed to be their family members. There was one photo of Yakov standing between Ilya and another man, his arms around both of their shoulders. The three of them were grinning madly, occasionally laughing. Yakov seemed to have a particularly strong grip on the third man, and the two of them kept turning toward each other and smiling even wider.

"Is that your brother, then?" Harry asked, pointing to the picture.

Yakov glanced up from the teacups he had just pulled out. "No. Not my brother. _He's_ my brother."

Harry looked at the photo Yakov was indicating and blinked, wondering how he hadn't seen the remarkable resemblance before. "You're not twins, are you?"

"No, he's two years older."

"You look dead similar," Harry said, still staring at the photo of the two of them. They were the same height, had the same thin, handsome face with a strong jaw line, and smiled in the exact same way.

"Yes, I suppose," Yakov said casually. "He lives in Russia, still. He works for the Ministry there. He's very clever."

Harry continued looking at the photos as Yakov poured their tea. There was an old one of Yakov and Ilya, presumably at Durmstrang, with a few other boys, one of whom was Viktor Krum. Krum wasn't scowling, but he certainly wasn't smiling for the photo, either.

"You knew Viktor Krum?" Harry asked as he sat down at the table with Yakov.

Yakov smirked slightly and slid Harry's teacup across the table. "Everyone _knew_ Viktor. But, yes, he was a very good friend at school. I didn't want to be a Triwizard Champion at all, but I was very glad for Viktor when he was chosen. He was rather brilliant, though a bit surly, I think."

Harry grinned into his teacup as he blew on the steaming liquid. "Yes, he was a bit surly. Are you still in touch with him?"

"Oh, yes. He's coming to visit us soon, I hope. He's very busy, of course. He's barely hit the peak of his athletic abilities, I think. You played Quidditch at Hogwarts, yes?"

"Yes," Harry said, sipping at his tea. "I saw him play against Ireland at the World Cup the summer before the Triwizard. He was amazing. He's an excellent Seeker."

They drank their tea and talked more about Quidditch until Yakov asked what Harry had been doing since the war ended.

"I've just been relaxing, I guess." Harry said, staring down at what remained of his tea. "It's not entirely working, to be honest. I'm getting a bit restless. But," he sighed, "I'll be starting training in September, like I said."

"So then you'll help find the Death Eaters?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. It's a three-year training process, though, so... I kind of doubt it. It'll at least be good to have something to do again. This summer... it's been kind of rough."

"Where are you living?" Yakov asked as he tapped their teacups with his wand and refilled them. "By yourself?"

"At the moment, yeah. My flat has two rooms, though... I thought one of my friends was going to be moving in. He's hasn't yet, but... maybe soon."

Yakov nodded. "Did you get a flat as soon as the war ended?"

"No... I was living with my friend's family, the one who's supposed to come live with me. But... well, they lost one of their sons and I..." He sighed again and took a long sip of tea. "I used to date their daughter. It was just awkward and depressing. I couldn't handle it, so I moved out pretty quickly. I felt like I was just being a burden to them, anyway. They had bigger things to worry about besides taking care of me."

Yakov nodded sympathetically. "Do you always feel like you're being a burden?"

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at his teacup. "I guess. There was more to it than that, though... their son and – and their daughter..."

"Was she who you took to the Yule Ball?"

"No, that was just a friend. I didn't start dating Ginny until my sixth year. But we're not together anymore." He took another gulp of hot tea and tried to change the subject. "So, you're how old? 20?"

"Just turned 21," Yakov said, smiling. "And you?"

"Nearly 18. End of next week."

Yakov leaned back in his chair and smiled mischievously. "And you don't want to be back with this Ginny for your birthday?"

Harry shook his head. "Things are different now," he said quietly, wishing Yakov would leave the topic alone. " _I'm_ different now. The situation has changed... her brother died fighting to protect me. I can't date her and pretend that didn't happen."

"I suppose not."

Harry finished his tea and set his cup down with a bang. He didn't like the way Yakov was looking at him. Yakov was smiling in a disconcerting way, as though he knew something he wasn't supposed to know.

"Do you have a girlfriend, then?" he asked in a lame attempt to make Yakov feel as uncomfortable as he felt.

"No," Yakov said simply.

"Yeah, well." Harry pushed his chair back from the table. "Who needs 'em? I should probably go, can I Disapparate from here?"

"No, we have a lot of security up... you have to do it from the street. Are you sure you have to go?" Yakov added the last part as a sort of apologetic plea.

"Yes," Harry said firmly. He stood and Yakov followed suit. "Thank you for the tea, though. It was... it was really nice of you."

"No problem," Yakov said, trailing behind Harry as he headed for the door. "You're welcome here anytime. Honestly."

"Well," Harry smiled awkwardly, "thank you. It's been really nice meeting you." Harry held out his hand and Yakov held it tightly.

"Keep in touch?"

Harry nodded and started to take his hand back, but Yakov pulled him closer and pressed their lips together. Then, as though nothing had happened, Yakov stepped back, dropped Harry's hand, and opened the door politely. Harry was frozen on the spot, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

"Harry?"

"Hmph," Harry squeaked and turned quickly toward the door.

"Are you all right?"

Harry nodded and forced himself to smile. "That how they say goodbye in Russia?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded jovial and not panic-stricken.

"No," Yakov said softly, eyeing Harry carefully.

"Right." Harry pushed his way past Yakov. "Well, goodbye, then. Thanks – er, again, and – bye." Not bothering to look back or wave, he walked as quickly as he could back to the staircase at the end of the hallway. Once he was sure he was out of Yakov's sight, he bolted down the stairs and out of the building.

To his horror, the Auror was still standing outside, leaning against a tree and reading a newspaper. Harry brushed past him, mumbled, "fuck off," and walked all the way back to his flat, thinking of nothing and refusing to look over his shoulder.

 

 

 

 

"Why don't you come running with me, anymore?"

Harry glanced up from the book he was trying to read as Ron burst into his flat, unannounced. Ron was panting and sweating, his damp hair clinging to his flushed face.

"Hi, Ron. Would you like to come in?" Harry asked in a flat voice.

"Come off it," Ron wheezed slightly and he planted his feet and started stretching. "Seriously, though. I just had the best run ever. You should have come."

"Why are you here?"

Ron grunted as he bent forward and placed his hands on the ground. "Just stopping by," he said in a slightly strangled voice as he bent his knees. "I spent the night at George's. Decided to go for a run in the park over there." He stood back up and pointed out Harry's window. Harry lowered his eyes back to the book as Ron continued stretching. "Haven't seen you in a while," Ron noted in a determinately nonchalant tone.

Harry said nothing, but stared fiercely at a paragraph he had been reading for the past twenty minutes, still not taking in a single word of it.

"Didn't see your usual Auror watch outside the building, either."

Harry blinked at the book in front of him. He hadn't left his flat in three days, and so had taken no notice of the absence of Aurors. He wasn't sure what to make of the news.

"Kingsley told Mum you had a row with one of them. Apparently the department is, er... what were their words? Something like, "refusing to look after the spoiled brat until he shows some respect and gratefulness.' Mum's dead worried the Death Eaters are going to get you if word spreads that the Aurors aren't looking after you anymore–"

"I don't need looking after, do I?" Harry asked tersely, still staring at his book. "I'm a bloody adult, aren't I? I came of age, I became a man, I fought Tom Riddle and destroyed the filthy coward, didn't I? And, in case you haven't noticed, because apparently the _Auror department_ hasn't, I'm fine! Can you guess why that is, Ron? It's because the fucking Death Eaters are scared out of their wits! They know there's no hope for them now and they don't want to be interrogated and locked up. They are _hiding_ and not even their hatred of me will bring them out now."

Silence rang through the room for a few tense moments until Harry heard a rustle of clothing. He chanced a glanced over the top of his book. Ron had taken off his shirt and was wiping the sweat off his face and neck with it. Harry ducked his head back down.

"I think you have a wildly false sense of security, Harry," Ron said quietly. "They may be scared, but they are still _Death Eaters_. The reason they have no hope now is you. You killed their master, their protection. They know it's only a matter of time before they get caught. Why not bring you down with them? Why not kill the man who killed their _lord_ if they're going to wind up in prison, anyway?"

Harry scowled. "You sound like _them_ ," he spat.

"Like who?"

"Like the fucking coward Aurors. If they're so bloody concerned about me, why'd they stop guarding me and leave me totally unprotected?"

"You think they left you unprotected? Honestly? _You_? Merlin, Harry. They've got Hit Wizards on every corner in a ten block radius from here!"

Harry threw his book down on the sofa and stood to face Ron. " _What_? You said you didn't see–"

"I said I didn't see any Aurors," Ron said defensively.

"Hit Wizards," Harry grumbled contemptuously, walking over to his window. He glanced down at the streets below, at all the Muggles walking around without a care in the world, and at the large park a few blocks over. He seethed silently about his heavy Ministry protection, but then let his mind wander entirely as his eyes focused on the park.

When he finally turned around, Ron was still standing awkwardly by the door, half naked. Harry watched as Ron ran his fingers nervously over his shirt.

"M-mum says you're invited for dinner," Ron said hopefully. "Anytime, really, but... tonight?"

"No, thanks," Harry replied automatically.

Ron sighed heavily and pulled his damp shirt back on over his head. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Harry," he said stiffly as he turned to open the door. "Don't be such a..."

Ron seemed to be struggling with himself, with his words. Harry waited for the insult.

"Stranger," Ron finished sadly. With that, he left the flat and closed the door behind him.

 

 

 

 

The next evening Harry stood nervously outside Yakov's door, trying to remember why he had come back and wondering if he had blacked out on the way over. He couldn't recall anything in between leaving his own flat and arriving at Yakov's. Deciding he had obviously made a ridiculous mistake, he turned and walked quickly back down the hallway, hoping there had been no one home to hear his knocking.

A door squeaked open behind him and he sped up, reaching the end of the hallway and opening the door to the stairs.

"Harry?" Yakov called after him, sounding confused.

Harry tried to walk out onto the stairs, but found himself awkwardly frozen again.

"Harry," Yakov repeated, jogging down the hallway to meet him. "You came back." He looked a little closer at Harry and frowned. "Are you all right?"

Harry turned slowly to face Yakov, trying desperately to say something, to explain himself. When nothing came out, Yasha smiled kindly and closed the door to the stairs gently.

"Do you want to come in? Have some tea with me, please."

Harry nodded and followed Yakov back down the hallway and into the flat. He sat down in the kitchen and waited silently as Yakov prepared the tea, staring at the wall covered in photographs again. When Yakov set down a teacup in front of Harry and sat down across the table, Harry blew gently into his tea before taking a sip and letting the warmth of it calm him down.

"Where's... shit. Ellia?" he asked quietly.

Yakov smiled. "Ilya. I think he's at a Muggle club. He likes to go there on Friday nights. To find girls, I think."

"Why don't you go with him?" Harry asked pointlessly.

Yakov raised an eyebrow. "I think that is obvious."

"Yes," Harry muttered, staring down into his cup of steaming tea. "Obvious." When he couldn't take the prolonged silence anymore, he cleared his throat and tried to speak again. "I just came here to say," he said loudly, surprising himself with his rude tone, "that I'm not easy. Passive, I mean, I guess. You can't take advantage of me."

Yakov blinked at him. "I... sorry? What?"

"Passive," Harry said again. "I'm not passive. I just didn't want you to get that impression of me. The other day, I let you sit with me at lunch and I let you bring me back here for tea and I let you... well, I just wanted you to know. I'm not passive. I was in a rut that day. You can't walk all over me. I'm not passive," he finished his rant breathlessly. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks and took another sip of his tea for something to do.

"I didn't think you are passive," Yakov said simply. "You defeated Voldemort, after all."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "With a disarming spell. It was passive."

Yakov reached across the table and put his hand on Harry's arm. Harry froze. "It was very brave. You used a disarming spell to defeat him. That was an active decision, yes? You were not a killer. You are better than that. I know you are not passive. You are Harry Potter. You fight against evil and discrimination. You are very active, I think."

Harry kept his eyes on Yakov's hand. "Okay," he whispered. "T-thank you."

"You're welcome." Yakov squeezed Harry's arm gently before letting go. "I want you call me Yasha."

Harry looked up, confused. "What?"

"Yasha. It's what my friends call me."

"Yasha?" Harry blinked. "Yasha," he repeated, feeling his lips curl into an unstoppable smile as he said the nickname. "I like that."

Yasha smiled. "Good. So, how have you been?"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to will the tenseness out of his body. "Fine, I guess... kind of bored."

"I'm sorry. Do you want to do something?"

"No," Harry said quickly, looking down as he felt himself blushing again. "This is fine, just talking..."

Yasha leaned back in his chair and pondered Harry for a few moments as he drank his tea. "Have you been alone since Monday?" he asked.

Harry traced the rim of his teacup with the tip of his index finger. "No... one of my friends came over for a few minutes yesterday. Just to say hi."

"Good. I don't want you to be lonely."

"I'm not lonely," Harry said, looking up in surprise.

Yasha shrugged. "I can recognize loneliness, Harry."

Harry looked back down at his tea and drank the rest of it quickly. "I should go," he said, standing. "I'm sorry for coming over like this–"

"No, stay, please." Yasha rose and followed Harry back to the door. "You don't have to go. I'm sorry if I made – if I make you uncomfortable."

Harry's eyes darted once to Yasha's earnest face before focusing on the doorknob. "I should go," he repeated in a whisper.

"Stay," Yasha said gently, stepping forward and placing a hand on the door to keep it shut. "Please."

Harry could feel Yasha's body heat mingling with his own. He reached for the doorknob with a shaking hand, thinking only of how desperately he needed to leave. Yasha gripped Harry's wrist and opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was lost in a grunt as Harry turned abruptly and pinned him to the door.

Harry planted his lips ungracefully on Yasha's and ran his hands frantically up and down Yasha's chest, seeking something to grip. He settled, at last, for holding onto Yasha's sharp hipbones as Yasha's tongue brushed against his lips. Yasha's hands made their way to Harry's hair, but instead of pulling Harry's head closer, he pulled it away.

"Harry," he whispered, searching the panicked green eyes in front of him. "Do you want to talk?"

"No," Harry pleaded, his fingers digging into Yasha's jeans.

"Are – are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry said emphatically.

"Okay." Yasha slowly licked his lips. "Can we go to the sofa?"

"Yes," Harry repeated, stepping away and following Yasha further into the living room.

Yasha sat down and patted his lap, encouraging Harry to sit on top of him. Blushing furiously, Harry awkwardly climbed onto the couch and straddled Yasha's thighs.

"Okay," Yasha said softly, running his hands up Harry's thighs, side, and neck, until he could lace his fingers back through Harry's messy black hair. "Calm down," he said soothingly, pulling Harry's head toward his own. "Go slow." He pressed his mouth lightly against Harry's and let the kiss linger for a moment before pulling on Harry's bottom lip with his teeth. Harry groaned and sank down to sit on Yasha's legs. He leaned forward as Yasha's tongue slid into his mouth and reached out with one hand to brace himself on the back of the couch. His other hand went back to Yasha's waist and slid under the back of Yasha's shirt.

Their lips played against each other, pressing and teasing, as their tongues moved shyly together. Harry moved his other hand to Yasha's hair, tugging on it as one of Yasha's hands slid down his back. Yasha pulled back slightly, locked his lips around Harry's tongue, and sucked on it. Harry let out a high-pitched whine and rocked atop Yasha's lap, rubbing their cloth-covered crotches together. Yasha gasped at the friction and let go of Harry's tongue. His head fell back on the couch and both his hands moved down to grip Harry's rolling hips.

Harry leaned forward and kissed along the veins in Yasha's arched neck, still grinding his erection against Yasha's jeans. He wrapped his lips around Yasha's Adam's apple and licked it wantonly, causing Yasha to shudder jerkily beneath him.

"Harry," Yasha moaned as Harry's hips thrust faster against him. "Harry," he repeated weakly as Harry began sucking on the side of his neck. "W-we have to stop."

Harry froze immediately. He backed up so far on Yasha's legs that he nearly toppled backwards onto the floor. Yasha grabbed the front of Harry's shirt to help, but let go when Harry jerked out of his grip and landed on the couch next to him.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, wincing when his voice came out sounding as confused and ashamed as he felt.

"Don't be sorry," Yasha insisted, turning to face Harry. "I just think... we need to talk before we do something more. This is your first time being with another man?"

Harry nodded, staring down at his feet.

"It's okay." Yasha reached out and held one of Harry's still-trembling hands. "I just don't want you to regret this."

Harry looked up, his eyes wide. "Why would I regret this? I _want_ this. I... I want _you_."

Smiling, Yasha leaned forward and kissed Harry once. "You're sweet, Harry. And I want you, too. I still think we need to talk. Talking is good. I learned that... if you don't talk, then things go very very badly. I don't want to hurt you. And I don't think you want to hurt me. So, we need to talk about things. Especially because this is your first time."

Harry nodded slowly and opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by the sound of thundering footsteps coming from the hallway. Yasha turned his head just in time to see five wizards break down his door, all of them pointing their wands directly at him. Yasha sprang to his feet and grabbed his own wand off the coffee table. Harry, recognizing the intruders as Hit Wizards, groaned and quickly checked that his arousal wasn't too obvious before he stood up.

"It's okay, Yasha," Harry said, stepping between his host and the five glowering wizards. "It's okay, guys. I'm okay. What's wrong?"

"What's _wrong_?" repeated the Hit Wizard standing nearest to where there used to be a door. "What's _wrong_ is that you snuck out of your bloody flat! Weasley went up to see you and came back down and told us you weren't there. We've been looking all around bloody London for an hour!"

"I didn't _sneak out_!" Harry exclaimed. "I walked all the way over. It's not _my_ fault if you lot are blind." He huffed angrily and glared at them all for a moment before asking in a near shout, "Why was Ron there? What did you do with him?"

" _We_ ask the questions, Potter," said a furious-looking bald Hit Wizard. "Weasley is fine. He tipped us off and went home. The _real_ question, Potter," he snapped, "is what are _you_ doing _here_?"

Harry clenched his teeth. "I'm spending time with a friend," he growled. "Is that a problem?"

"Harry–" Yasha reached out and put his hand on Harry's back, but Harry practically leapt away at the touch.

"I am allowed to leave my flat, yes?" he snarled at the Hit Wizards, who simply glared back at him. " _Yes_?" he shouted and a few of them nodded. "And I am allowed to see my friends, yes? If you're so bloody worried about where I am, then I suggest doing your _job_ and actually _following_ me if I leave my building! Now, GET OUT!" he roared, pointing forcefully at the space in the wall where they had burst through.

Harry suspected the Hit Wizards had been ordered not to argue with him as the Aurors had done because they filed obediently out of Yasha's flat, though somewhat grumpily. The last one gave Harry an evil sneer before magically fixing the door back on its hinges and slamming it.

"FUCK!" Harry shouted, trying to relieve the rage boiling up inside of him.

Bravely, Yasha stepped up behind him and ran two hands over his tense back. "It's okay, Harry," he said, starting to massage Harry's neck and shoulders. "They're just doing their job, right? The Ministry just wants to protect you."

Harry huffed and moved away. "I've never liked the Ministry," he said plainly. Running a hand through his hair, he looked miserably down at the couch. "I have to go. I need... I need a drink. I need to go find Ron."

"They said he's fine–"

"I don't trust them." Harry walked to the door and opened it. "Thank you," he said, turning back to look at Yasha. "I'm sorry if... if none of that was okay with you. And I'm sorry those arses broke in here. And I'm... and, thank you."

"Will you come back?" Yasha asked. "Tomorrow?"

Harry went into the hallway. "Maybe. I... maybe." Ignoring Yasha's goodbye, Harry walked along the corridor, down the stairs, and out onto the street where he was thoroughly unsurprised to find the five Hit Wizards waiting for him.

"What?" he spat. "Come to escort me home? Well, fuck off. I'm not going home."

"Where are you going?" the bald one asked.

"The Burrow," Harry said shortly before walking away to find an empty alley. "You can't follow me there. There's no need. It has plenty of protection on it. Don't. Follow. Me." Turning into a small lane between two buildings, Harry bared his teeth to the band of Hit Wizards before Disapparating.

 

 

 

 

"Someone's coming. Oh, no, I can't tell who it is. It's too dark. Who... who's there?" Harry heard Mrs. Weasley's voice coming through the kitchen window, the last question a loud bark.

"It's me, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, reaching the door and knocking.

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley flung the door open and wrapped him in a suffocating hug. "We were so worried! Ron went to see you, and he came back, and he said you weren't home, and the Hit Wizards didn't know where you were, and, oh! I thought you'd been... well, it doesn't matter, now, does it? You're safe. Come on, come in. Are you hungry? I'll make you something."

"No, thank you," Harry said, a bit breathless as she finally released him. "I'm not hungry."

"Are you sure, dear?"

"Yes, thank you. Is... is Ron here?"

"I'm here," Ron said from where was standing in the doorway leading off from the kitchen.

"Oh!" Harry started a bit. "I didn't see you there. Er... do you want – can we go up to your room?"

Ron shrugged and turned, leading the way. Harry could feel Mrs. Weasley's eyes burning into his back as he followed Ron out of the kitchen. They walked in silence up the many stairs to Ron's room before finally reaching the top of the Burrow. Ron opened the door and Harry stepped inside, immediately feeling more relaxed from standing in such a familiar room. Pig was flying around his head, cheerily hooting excitement at seeing Harry after his long absence from the Burrow.

"What's up?" Ron asked dully, leaning against the windowsill.

"Oh, er, the – the Hit Wizards told me you stopped by. I just figured I'd come round here and... see... you," he finished lamely and looked down at the messy floor, unable to stand the way Ron was glaring at him.

"Where were you?" Ron asked.

"I was just at a friend's place. I was still in London. I was perfectly safe."

Ron grunted. "Yeah, well. No one knew that." He sighed and moved to sit on the edge of his bed. "Whose place?"

Harry glanced up. "He – you don't – I met..." He sighed and batted Pig away as the tiny owl tried to land on his shoulder. "His name's Yakov. I met him the other day. He went to Durmstrang and was at Hogwarts for the Triwizard. We ran into each other in a cafe and... recognized each other."

Ron looked skeptical. "You're hanging out with a bloke from Durmstrang?"

Harry managed to crack a smile. "Yeah. He's not a bad guy, though. We were just... having tea. I felt like getting out of the flat, so I went to visit him."

Ron stood, his jaw clenched, and went to open the door to his bedroom. "I have to go to bed," he said abruptly.

"Er." Harry stood there awkwardly, staring at Ron. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. I'm just tired." Ron glanced out at the stairs, then back at Harry. "Thanks for coming. Mum was about to lose it."

"Yeah, I noticed." Sighing heavily, Harry walked out onto the landing. Before he could turn and say goodbye, however, Ron had shut the door in his face. Harry stared at the closed door for a long time, trying to see through it, to see through Ron's grouchy behavior. He thought about everything he had done that night, about all the questions and confusion running noisily through his head. He wondered if Ron would ever understand about Yasha. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

On his way back down the stairs, Ginny poked her head out of her room, obviously expecting to see Ron.

"Harry!" she said in surprise.

Harry smiled weakly. "Hi, Ginny. How–"

"What are you doing here?"

"Just saying hi... catching up. Haven't been here in a while."

"No, you haven't." Ginny's bitter expression softened as she looked over Harry's visible exhaustion. "Do you want to come in for a mo?"

Harry nodded and found himself stepping into her room and closing the door. He looked around the room slowly, searching for something that had changed since he'd last been in it. There were more posters on the wall, more books and magazines on the desk and on the floor, and then there was Ginny, standing by her bed and staring at him, same as ever.

"How... how have you been?" Harry asked.

"Fine." Ginny shrugged. "I've been busy reading, mostly. Getting ready for N.E.W.T.s."

"That's good." Harry bit his lip and looked down at his feet.

"I miss you, you know," she said after a long silence.

Harry looked up and let his eyes rake over her slim body. Her long hair hung loose around her waist and he could see her nipples through her pink tank top.

"I've missed you, too," he said hollowly. To him, his voice sounded far away and unfamiliar. Here he was again, playing this stupid game with Ron's sister. Out of habit, it seemed, he was clinically finding all of her attractive points and forcing sexual thoughts into his mind. He didn't need to do this, he didn't want to do this, but he was having a hard time stopping himself. He hadn't been alone with Ginny the entire time he had lived in the Burrow after the war, but now he was here, in her room. And she was looking at him with that expectant expression he found so endearing on Ron.

He crossed the room in a few steps and claimed Ginny's lips with his own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her on her narrow bed. Surprised at this, Harry tried to pull away, but she held him close, her tongue sliding between his lips. He kissed her automatically, his mind going blank as she pressed her hips up against him. The slight pressure was enough to bring back the mad rush of lust he had felt earlier in the evening. He groaned and, propping himself up on his elbows, began rocking his hips desperately against hers, eager for more friction.

"Hmm." Ginny smiled and broke the kiss. "It's been a long time," she said mischievously. One of her hands was moving slowly down his back, around his waist, and over the front of his jeans. "Do you want...?"

Harry didn't answer, but sucked viciously on her neck instead. Squeaking slightly, Ginny arched her neck back and closed her hand over his straining erection. Harry sucked harder, rolling his tongue over the hot skin in his mouth as Ginny undid his jeans and pushed his clothes down onto his thighs. She grasped his cock tightly and Harry pressed his face into the mattress next to her head. He tried to hold his hips up, to give her room to move her hand, but his muscles were weak with arousal and his whole body was shaking from the effort.

Ginny slid out from under him and pushed him onto his back. He wrapped an arm around her as she curled up on her side next to him, stroking him expertly. She had done this for him dozens of times during their brief romance at Hogwarts and she knew what he liked.

He closed his eyes and the scene from Yasha's sofa played itself over and over in his head.

"Fuck – Ginny!" Harry splayed a tense hand on his chest as his body arched and he came over her small hand.

Grinning, Ginny raised her hand to her mouth and licked it clean. This sight made Harry groan and twitch with a violent aftershock of pleasure.

"That was awfully fast," she teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Harry's rapid panting slowed down as he regained control of himself. He wondered if she suspected he had been turned on earlier that night. She had an annoyingly knowing look on her face. Harry stared up at the ceiling as panic and guilt slowly took over his senses.

Ginny clasped her damp hand around one of Harry's and guided it slowly to her shorts. "Please, Harry," she whispered. Her breath hit his ear and he shivered.

"Ginny..." Harry turned on his side to talk to her, but she rolled onto her back and pressed his hand between her legs, bucking her hips slightly at the pressure.

"I've missed you so much," she said, letting go of his hand and pushing her shorts down and off her legs. "I've missed your hands." Her voice quavered with uncertain embarrassment as she led his hand back up her thigh. "I've missed your lips. And your eyes. And your hair." She pressed her face into his hair as he pressed his middle finger against her clitoris.

Harry closed his eyes and kissed her blindly as he rubbed her clit with rapid movements, making her jerk against him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered against her lips, a desperate feeling of hopelessness washing over him. He didn't know what was going on or how he had suddenly wound up in bed with Ginny after over a year of avoiding her, after a night of rutting against another man on a sofa. Ginny was soft and loving, kind and sweet, funny and still tough. She was everything he could ever want or need in a girl and she was twitching wildly, her breaths coming in short gasps against his neck.

"Harry," she murmured, trembling. "I miss you so much." She grabbed his head and pressed their cheeks together. "I miss – ah – I miss y-you – oh – H-harry." She was moaning whiningly into his ear and he honestly wasn't sure if it was sexy or annoying. "I love you," she cried out breathlessly.

Harry's hand moved of its own accord, his fingers flicking her roughly, as his brain went into panicked overdrive. This was wrong. He shouldn't be here, with her. His hand shouldn't be between her legs and his come shouldn't be all over her duvet. He slipped two fingers into her, letting his thumb rub quick circles around her swollen clit. She arched up and bit her lip violently to keep from crying out as she thrashed and came around his fingers.

He continued to rub her as she shuddered next to him, stopping only when she tiredly moved his hand away. Knowing she wanted to see it, Harry pulled his hand out of her grip and sucked on the tip of his thumb briefly before sliding two fingers into his mouth. She watched him, breathing heavily as he wiped his tongue over his fingers. It wasn't the worst taste in the world, he thought, though it still wasn't terribly pleasant.

When she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself down, Harry pulled his hand away from his mouth and wiped his wet fingers on his shirt. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, feeling worse about himself than he had in a long, long time. Yes, he could get off from Ginny's touch, and yes, he could he could get her off from his. But he knew now, looking back on the events of the night, that it didn't matter. He couldn't pretend to like her anymore. He couldn't pretend to like girls, breasts, round hips, long hair, or soft curves anymore. It was all pointless. There was no pleasure in it for him, even despite getting to come because of another person.

And, most importantly, he was now undeniably an utter arse.

Ginny placed a wet kiss on his neck and he turned to look at her. "I love you," she said, smiling.

Harry's heart clenched painfully in his chest. He brushed the hair gently off her face. "I'm sorry," he said pathetically. "I'm sorry I... I'm sorry I haven't been around."

The smile faded slowly from Ginny's face, but Harry saw the hope still lingering in her eyes.

"That's all right," she whispered. "Just... start coming round more often, okay?"

Harry nodded, unable to speak. He climbed over her and off the bed to pull up his jeans. He fastened them quickly and, unable to stand one more second alone with her in this room, walked to the door.

"You could stay the night, if you want," Ginny said softly.

Harry gripped the doorknob and turned it shakily. "I – I can't. I have to be somewhere in the morning. I'll... I'll see you later." Not bothering to say goodnight, he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Managing to leave with nothing more than another hug from Mrs. Weasley, he walked to the edge of the garden and spun, Apparating into his flat. There was an owl hovering angrily outside his window, and when he let it in, it dropped a note from its beak onto the floor and flew out again in a rush of wings and wind.

Harry picked up the note warily and read it:

_Harry,_  
My office.  
Tomorrow morning.  
9am.  
Kingsley 

Harry dropped the note onto his coffee table and headed straight for his room. Foregoing changing and showering for sleep, he flung himself onto his bed and tried to calm his racing mind.

 

 

 

 

"Kingsley." Harry knocked on the doorframe of the Minister's office, having gotten through all the exhausting security measures. "Why are you at the Ministry on a Saturday morning?"

Kingsley glared at Harry as he stood up and invited the younger man in before closing the door. "Because your security is becoming a problem. For everyone."

"I don't _need_ secur–"

"Yes. You. Do." Kingsley sat back down behind his desk. "You don't get a say in this, Potter."

Harry clenched his fists. "Then why did you ask my permission before you set the Aurors on me?"

"I was being polite. You really think I can't have you protected without your permission? It's been done before."

Harry scowled at the thought of the Order trailing him the summer after the Triwizard. "What did you need to see me about?" he asked tersely.

"Your security," Kingsley said calmly. "You need to be nicer to these people, Harry. They _are_ protecting you."

"I don't bloody need protection!" Harry shouted.

Kingsley viewed Harry intently for a moment before motioning him to sit down in one of the chairs in front of the large desk. "Technically you're not supposed to know this, but maybe it will change your attitude. A Death Eater – we don't know who – tried to break into your flat."

Harry stared across the desk, unsure if Kingsley was telling the truth. "When?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Where was I?"

"You were in your flat," Kingsley said evenly. "And the Auror took care of it. The one you yelled at for waiting for you outside a stranger's home? He might well have saved your life and how do you repay him? The point is, Potter, you _do_ need protection, no matter how much you don't want it. The Ministry is more than happy to help, but you're not making things easy for anybody."

Harry pouted. "I didn't _know_ that happened. Someone should have told me."

"Potter. We are trying to protect you." Kingsley spoke slowly, as though Harry was a particularly stupid child. "It is not our duty to alert you of every attack. You already knew you were in danger, which is why, I assumed, you had accepted the offer of Ministry protection. Now," he leaned back in his chair and gave Harry a piercing stare, "who is Yakov Dmitriev?"

Harry felt himself blushing involuntarily. "He's just a friend. He's not dangerous."

"How do you know?"

"Because I... I do. He was at Hogwarts when I was doing the Triwizard and..." Harry trailed off awkwardly.

"Just because Crouch was the one who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, doesn't mean he was the only Dark wizard at Hogwarts that year."

Harry gave a frustrated sigh. "Yasha is _not_ –"

"Who?"

"Yakov," Harry mumbled, blushing deeper. "Yakov is _not_ a Death Eater. He is _not_ involved in Dark magic in any way. Look, he works for the Ministry. If you're so worried about him, why don't you go find him and talk to him yourself. He's perfectly harmless."

"Which department is he in? I might go do that."

"International Magical Cooperation," Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit suffocated and wishing he hadn't just told Kingsley where to find Yasha.

"Hm." Kingsley made a note and then folded the piece of paper and tucked it inside his robes. "Well, I'll go talk to him. I trust your judgement, Harry, I do. I want you to know that." Harry gave a noncommittal noise and Kingsley continued. "This is just procedure. I'll run a background check on him, just to be sure. And I'll have the Hit Wizards tighten their security so they don't let you slip off again. Unless..."

"Unless _what_?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Unless you're willing to treat the Aurors with a little more respect and gratefulness. They should be your role models, after all. Your training starts soon, does it not?"

Harry grumbled a vague response as he stood to leave. "Are we done, then?"

"Actually, I have one last question." Kingsley stood and moved between Harry and the door. "Is there any particular reason _why_ you've been so rude to the people who are protecting you?"

"No," Harry said defensively. Kingsley raised one of his eyebrows and Harry sighed. "Listen, you have _no_ idea what it's like. I'm an adult. Or at least I'm trying to be. I've moved out of the Burrow and I'm about to start job training and I'm just trying to be an independent, functioning adult. But it's not bloody easy when I'm constantly being followed and I can't go fucking anywhere without telling them! It's like having a _baby-sitter_ , Kingsley! And I've got _no_ privacy outside of my own room. It's unfair!"

"You had privacy last night at the Burrow."

Harry narrowed his eyes, his hands shaking slightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," Kingsley said evenly. "You asked the Hit Wizards not to follow you. And they didn't follow you. You had privacy."

"Something tells me you know everything I did at the Burrow anyway," Harry muttered mutinously.

Kingsley shrugged as he walked back over to the front of his desk. "Sit, Harry," he said, gesturing to the chair directly in front of him.

"No."

"All right." Kingsley sat on the edge of his desk and lifted his hand to inspect his fingernails as he talked. "You are an adult, yes. You're a qualified wizard. A very exceptionally talented wizard, even despite not having taken your last year of N.E.W.T. classes. You're a fully self-sufficient young man and you always have been. You're defiant as hell, which you've also always been, and which is now a problem. For once in your life, Harry, you need to let other people help you. You–"

"I've let other people help me! I – I let Ron and Hermione come and–"

"Yes, I know." Kingsley looked up from his hand. "But, from what I've heard, even though you claim them to be the people you trust most, you fought against them coming with you last year. Adults need help, too, Harry. The most mature wizards are the ones who not only accept help from others, but even _ask_ for it, when they need it. I'm not saying you need help defending yourself, not at all. We all know that's not true. What I _am_ saying, though, is that the _more adult_ thing to do is to cooperate with the people who are trying to help you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry managed through clenched teeth. "Can I go, now?"

Kingsley sighed. "Can I tell the Aurors you're willing to treat them better?"

"Yes."

"Can I expect better behavior from you between now and September?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause during which Kingsley pretended to consider a patch of dry skin on his palm and Harry stood there seething, waiting to be dismissed.

"You may go," Kingsley said without looking up.

Harry yanked the door open and stormed out without saying another word.

 

 

 

 

On Monday evening, Harry stood outside Yasha's flat again, banging gruffly on the door. After a minute or two, it opened and Ilya stuck his head out into the hallway.

"Oi, Harry!" Ilya stepped aside and invited Harry into the flat. "How are you?"

"I'm good." Harry forced a smile. "How are you?"

"Good, thank you. Is... oi. Do you need anything? Some, uh, something? You need something?"

"Is Yak... is Yasha here?"

"No. No, Yasha is at store. Please, uh." Ilya gestured toward the sofa. "Sit, please. Yasha... Yasha come home soon. Soon, I think. Sit, please."

Harry sat politely and Ilya followed. They sat there awkwardly for a few long minutes until Ilya sighed loudly.

"I'm sorry I speak very bad English. I want to – to speak with you in English, but I speak very bad English."

"It's not that bad," Harry said, smiling. "I wish I could speak another language."

Ilya raised his eyebrows. "You know only English? I know English and... oi, how in English? German, yes?"

"Yes," Harry affirmed, impressed. "Did you learn them both at Durmstrang?"

"English, yes. And German I learn in the summer. I... oi. I learn with only one teacher. And I am his only one student."

"You had a tutor during the summer?" Harry offered.

Ilya shrugged. "I think. I don't know this word. Maybe."

Harry nodded and glanced at his watch. "Do you know what time Yasha is coming back?"

"Soon, soon," Ilya promised. "He went to store to buy bread and... and cake. He stopped at... uh, no. First, he has work. Then shops. Then home. Oi! I listen – no, I hear – no – he come now, he come here now. No, you sit. Sit, please." Ilya jumped up at the sound of muffled footsteps in the hall. He opened the door and helped Yasha take the bags of groceries into the kitchen before nodding to the sofa and saying something in Russian.

Yasha looked over at Harry in surprise, grinning. "Harry! How are you?"

"I'm fine," Harry said as he pushed himself off the sofa. "How – how are you? Can I talk to you?"

"Yes, of course." Turning back to Ilya, Yasha mumbled something in Russian. Ilya glanced at Harry, smirked slightly, and then retreated to his room. "Sit, please," Yasha said, sitting on the sofa. "Do you want tea?"

"No, thanks." Harry sat back down next to Yasha and sighed loudly. "Did Kingsley Shacklebolt talk to you?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"He told me he was going to." Harry looked desperately over at Yasha. "What did you tell him? What did you talk about? What did you say?"

"Everything is fine," Yasha said soothingly. "He asked how we met and I told him. He asked about my family and my education and my work. It was normal. Well, no. It's not normal for the Minister to come talk to me, but it was fine."

"And you didn't... you didn't tell him?" Harry asked in a small, weak voice.

Yasha smiled slightly. "I didn't tell him. He doesn't need to know about this."

"Good," Harry sighed, extremely relieved. He sank into the couch, relaxing as the tension in his shoulders faded away. "That's good. Thank you."

"How was your weekend?" Yasha asked, reaching out and brushing his fingers over Harry's thigh.

"Fine," Harry whispered, staring intently at Yasha's hand. "How was yours?"

"It was boring." Yasha moved closer and kissed wetly along Harry's jawbone. "I wished you were here with me this weekend."

Harry smiled. "Yeah... I wish I had been here, too."

Squeezing Harry's leg, Yasha pulled his head away from Harry's neck. "Let's go to my bedroom. We need to talk, still. Leave your shoes out here, please."

"Okay," Harry staid, kicking his shoes and socks off. He stood reluctantly and followed Yasha into his room.

The walls in Yasha's room were covered with maps – maps of the world, maps of different countries, maps of the solar system and star constellations. Yasha closed the door and nodded for Harry to sit on his bed. Harry perched himself awkwardly on the edge and waited in silence as Yasha lit some candles in the dark room and then sat beside him.

"Tell me about yourself."

Harry blinked, startled by the strange request. "What... what exactly do you mean?"

"Tell me about yourself," Yasha repeated, shrugging. "How was Hogwarts?"

"Er... it was good. I – I liked it there, a lot."

"Which was your favorite year?"

"That's a really hard question," Harry said after a moment.

"Which was your least favorite year?" Yasha pressed on.

"Fifth, I guess," Harry said, shrugging. "My fifth year was... unpleasant, to say the least."

"Why?"

Harry shrugged, sighing slightly. "I don't know. A lot of reasons. We had a really bitchy Ministry witch who came and tried to teach us. No one believed me about Voldemort coming back at the third task. Dumbledore, the headmaster, ignored me entirely. I had really bad nightmares all year. And... my – my godfather died at the end of the year."

"I'm sorry," Yasha said quietly.

"It's fine," Harry said quickly. "It was just a bad year." He took a long, deep breath and then continued on recklessly. "Plus, I was... I was having these thoughts, you know? About... about blokes. And I wasn't... I didn't really want to deal with that. At all."

"Understandable," Yasha murmured, putting his hand back on Harry's leg. "And how do you feel about it now?"

"It's good." Harry chuckled. "I'm... I feel better about it. No one knows, though. Except for you, obviously. I'm not sure... how my friends would react, really. Does Ilya know?"

"Of course. He is a very good friend. I know him for too long for him not to know."

"That man," Harry said suddenly. "That man in the picture with the two of you. I thought he was your brother."

Yasha said nothing for a moment, concentrating on swirling his fingers over Harry's thigh and knee. "Yes," he said finally. "It is Vova. He was my boyfriend for a long time. We lived together here, in London, before I live with Ilyusha.

"What happened?" Harry asked, looking up at Yasha for the first time since sitting down.

Yasha shrugged. "He wanted to live in Russia again. I wanted to live here. So, I live here and he lives in Russia. It is simple."

"Do you miss him?"

"I don't love him now." Yasha kissed Harry's cheek lightly. "We are not together now. It is not important. It is the past. I want to live in this moment, in this now. I want to be with you."

Harry responded by kissing Yasha full on the lips. He pushed the older man down on the bed and then crawled on top of him.

Yasha pulled away slightly and looked up into Harry's twinkling green eyes. "Are we finished talking?"

"I think so." Harry ducked his head and licked across Yasha's Adam's apple. Yasha twitched slightly, trapped beneath Harry's weight. "At least for now."

"Good," Yasha muttered, taking hold of Harry's face and drawing it closer to his. They kissed lazily, their tongues circling around each other in a loosely patterned dance.

Finally, Harry broke the kiss and rolled onto his back, next to Yasha. "We could move up on the bed," he whispered.

Yasha turned and nipped at Harry's earlobe. "Good idea." He scooted himself backwards on the bed until his head landed on a pillow.

Harry got to his knees and straddled Yasha's thighs, hovering above him. "What about Ilya?"

Yasha frowned slightly. "What about him?"

"What if he... what if he comes in? Or – or hears us?" Harry asked, blushing.

"He won't come in. He knows you are here with me. He won't listen." Yasha reached up and ran his hands over Harry's chest. "Do you want to undress?"

Harry sat back on his heels and licked his lips. "I don't... well, I mean, _yes_ , but–"

"Shush." Yasha sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows. "We will go slow. I don't want to you do something you don't want to do."

"I want to," Harry insisted, his eyes feasting on the muscles that showed through Yasha's shirt. "I want to." With that, he reached down and grabbed the bottom of Yasha's shirt, pulling it off over Yasha's head and dropping it to the floor with shaking hands.

Yasha grabbed Harry's wrists and then laced their fingers together. He pulled their arms up, over his head, forcing Harry to lean down on top of him. Harry squeezed Yasha's hands as Yasha sucked Harry's lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth along the wet skin as he released it. Harry shivered, his hips brushing against Yasha's.

"Oh," Harry gasped, feeling Yasha press their erections together. Yasha grinned and let go of Harry's hands so he could grab Harry's arse instead. He kneaded it roughly, digging his fingers into the firm mounds in his grip. Harry ground his hips into Yasha, placing his lips on Yasha's neck and sucking roughly.

"Hmgh," Yasha groaned, arching his neck back. His breath hitched as Harry's hips bucked desperately. "Sit up," he managed, his voice strained.

Harry sat up, gulping nervously. Yasha smiled reassuringly and slid Harry's shirt up to his shoulders. Quickly, Harry discarded the shirt and lay back down, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. Their bare chests grazed each other as Harry continued thrusting along Yasha's erection.

"Harry," Yasha whispered after the man above him gave a particularly needy moan. "Harry," he repeated, forcing Harry to stop rocking and look up at him. "Let's take off our trousers, yes?"

"Yes," Harry growled through clenched teeth, immediately rolling onto his back and relieving himself of his remaining clothing. When he looked back over, Yasha was looking over Harry's naked body with interest. Harry felt quite self-conscious but tried to distract himself by examining Yasha's own nude form.

"Come here," Yasha gestured, grinning.

Harry crawled back on top of Yasha, resuming his earlier position. His cock lay flush against Yasha's and it throbbed enthusiastically at the situation. Yasha reached up, took Harry's glasses off, and set them on his nightstand.

"Erm..." Harry bit his lip, squinting slightly at the man beneath him.

Yasha lifted his hips, encouraging Harry to continue what he had been doing before the interruption. Harry groaned weakly, spreading his legs wider and bracing his knees on the bed. He thrust experimentally, eyes rolling back in his head as he felt Yasha's heated cock against his own and their balls rubbing together.

"Fuck," Harry panted, burying his face in Yasha's neck as his toes started twitching with orgasmic sensations. "Fuck," he groaned again, frotting shamelessly against Yasha, whose hands had gone back to Harry's bare bottom.

"Nnngh, Harry," Yasha muttered, bucking his hips along with Harry's frenzied rhythm. "Your arse," he groaned, gripping it tight enough to leave bruises, "is fantastic."

Harry opened his mouth to laugh, but the pleasure overwhelmed him and he simply let out a long, loud groan as his body shuddered erratically as he came, his come spreading between their bodies.

Yasha tossed his head back, his jaw locked, as he thrust against Harry's pulsing cock. "Ah... ah!" He grunted as his muscles went into spasm, jerking his hips one last time before falling back, spent, on his bed.

Harry still had his face hidden in Yasha's collarbone. His frantic pants breezed over Yasha's damp, sweaty neck.

"Harry?" Yasha finally asked when their pulses had slowed down and the room was filled only with the sounds of deep, peaceful breaths.

"Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

Harry lifted his head and kissed Yasha. "Of course I'm all right. I'm wonderful."

"Good." Yasha squeezed Harry's arse again and then gave it an appreciative smack. "Can you get off me?"

"Sorry." Harry rolled onto his back and looked down at himself. There were streaks of his and Yasha's come smeared over his stomach and chest.

"Don't be sorry. Only my legs were falling asleep."

Yasha reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a handful of tissues. He handed some to Harry before wiping the mess off his own front. Harry cleaned himself up and tossed the tissues into the bin under the nightstand.

Yasha rolled onto his side and flung an arm over Harry's chest. "Do you want dinner? I can cook something."

Harry smiled lazily and kissed Yasha's nose. "That would be perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Yasha kissed Harry briefly before climbing off the bed and finding his clothes. "No, don't get up," he said as Harry sat up. "I will tell you when dinner is ready. You can sleep."

"Are you sure? I could help..."

"No. Sleep," Yasha commanded, leaning down across the bed and kissing Harry again. "I'll tell you when it is time to eat." Winking, he stood and went out to the kitchen, leaving Harry to his hazy, blissful thoughts.

Smiling widely, Harry rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

"Harry," Yasha opened the door to his bedroom to find Harry sprawled naked across his bed. "Harry. Dinner is ready."

Harry grumbled something into Yasha's pillow before opening his eyes and looking up.

"Dinner is ready," Yasha repeated, smiling. "Do you want to eat?"

"Yeah," Harry grunted, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Yeah. I'll be out in a minute. I'll just get dressed."

Yasha left and Harry put his glasses on and searched around the sides of the bed for his clothes. When he was decent, he headed for the kitchen, where he found Yasha and Ilya sitting at the table, laughing and talking in Russian. He lingered out of sight for a minute, listening to the strange language and trying to guess what they were talking about. He couldn't recognize a single word, however, and stepped into the kitchen when his stomach started grumbling.

Yasha turned and grinned at Harry, motioning him to sit at the table. "I hope you like borsch."

"I've never had it," Harry said, sitting down and looking into the bowl of blood-red soup.

"Well, then you're in for a treat, I think!" Yasha beamed proudly and heaped two generous dollops of sour cream into Harry's bowl before adding some to his own and Ilya's soup. "Bon appetite!" he said heartily, watching Harry with excitement.

Harry took a spoonful of beets and hesitantly opened his mouth. He would hate to disappoint Yasha by hating the borsch, but as he slipped the spoon passed his lips, he realized he had nothing to worry about.

"This is delicious," Harry said truthfully, though desperately wishing he had blown on the soup before downing so much of his. It felt as though the skin on his tongue might be peeling off.

"I'm glad." Yasha grinned and ate a spoonful himself, apparently unfazed by the heat.

The three of them spoke mostly about Ilya's search for a new job as they each went through two large bowls of soup. Ilya had been working at Gringotts Wizarding Bank for several months, but had recently quit because he found it too boring. He, Yasha, and Harry brainstormed different places he could try finding work, Yasha occasionally helping Ilya with his English.

Finally, after drinking two cups of tea and eating half the biscuits, Ilya stood up from the table. "I am..." He paused, frowning and thinking hard. "I will go walk now. Outside," he added after a moment. "It was nice to see you, Harry."

"You, too, Ilya," Harry said, grinning and extending his hand.

Ilya shook Harry's hand happily. "Ilyusha, please. You – call me Ilyusha."

"Okay. Ilyusha. Bye." Harry waved as Ilya left the flat. He looked down at his empty teacup and spun it on the table a few times before saying, "I like your flatmate."

Yasha nodded, yawning. "Excuse me. Yes, I like him, too. He is a very good friend."

Harry looked at his watch. "Shit. How long have we been sitting here?"

"A long time." Yasha stretched and stood, pulling out his wand and levitating all the dirty dishes to the sink with a flick. "Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

Harry looked out the window, sighing. "I can't," he muttered. "I mean, I – I want to, but... I can't. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask. Do you have something to do in the morning?"

"No, I just... I would have to tell the Aurors waiting for me outside your building that I'm staying the night. It would... it would look a little suspicious."

Yasha leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. "Are you ashamed?"

"No," Harry said quickly. He paused to think about his answer and then said it again, more confidently. "No. I'm not ashamed. I just don't want anyone to know."

"Why not?"

"Because," Harry sighed, "everyone already knows everything about me. I'm _the Chosen One_ , remember? I don't want this getting out and people making a big thing of it. I don't want it ending up in the _Prophet_ or something. I like some privacy, is that too much to ask?"

"No," Yasha conceded after a long pause. "And?"

"And... what?"

"There is something else. You are so defensive about it. You can say it to me. I won't tell anyone."

Harry bit his lip and looked down at his bare feet. "I don't want my friends to find out."

Yasha sighed sadly. "Why? They're your friends. Of course you can tell them."

"No." Harry stood up, filled with nervous tension. "I can't tell them. You don't understand, you don't even know them. They would... I just can't tell them."

"They are your friends," Yasha said simply.

"I'm sorry," Harry said defensively. "I'm not going to tell them. And I can't stay the night. I should go home." He walked back out to the sofa and sat to put his socks and shoes back on.

"Where do you live?" Yasha asked, still standing in the kitchen.

"Why?" Harry spat.

Yasha's face darkened. "Nevermind," he grumbled, moving to the door and opening it for Harry. "Come back if you want to see me again," he said angrily as Harry walked over.

"Why wouldn't I want..." Harry rolled his eyes at himself. "No, Yasha, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, I wasn't... here." He went back to the kitchen, found a quill, and scribbled his address on a napkin. Heading for the door, he pressed the napkin into Yasha's hand. "I'm sorry. I want to see you again, of course I do. Please come visit me. Can you come tomorrow night?"

Yasha looked down at the napkin and sighed. "I think so."

"Okay. Good." Harry kissed Yasha gently, letting their lips linger together for a moment before stepping away. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Yasha smiled and closed the door after Harry.

 

 

 

 

A sharp knock on the door interrupted Harry's series of push-ups. Grunting, he stood and walked across his living room, running a hand over his sweaty face. He opened the door, expecting Yasha but finding –

"Ginny!" Harry stood frozen in the doorway, staring at her with a blank expression.

"Hi..." Ginny's eyes ran up and down Harry's glistening body and he wished he were wearing more than just a pair of shorts. "What are you doing?"

"Working out. Is, er... do you need something?"

"No," she said uncertainly. "I was just coming over to say hi. Can – can I come in?"

"Sure." Harry stepped aside and let her into his flat.

She stood awkwardly next to the couch, not entirely meeting his eye. "How are you?"

"Fine." Harry slumped tired against the door as it closed behind him. "How are you? How's Ron and everyone?"

"They're good. Ron said he might stop by later."

"Oh," Harry said stupidly.

"Oh?"

Harry shrugged and moved over to the window, opening it and hoping a breeze would cool him down.

"I still miss you, you know," Ginny said bitterly.

Harry sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "I know. Look, Gin... I don't really know how to say this." He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and spoke again, hating himself. "I'm really sorry about Friday night. It – that shouldn't have happened."

Ginny's expression hardened. "What do you mean it shouldn't have happened?"

"I mean," he said with difficulty, "that I shouldn't have let it happen. I'm not... quite sure why I did. And I owe you a really big apology."

"So... what? That was just for the... for the what, Harry? For sex?"

"I–"

"You have hands, you bastard," she spat, shaking visibly with anger. "What am I to you? Just some random bird you can–"

"No, Ginny," Harry pleaded, striding over to her. "I know, I know. I'm – I'm more than idiot, more than a bastard. I know. I'm so – _so_ sorry. I know it was wrong and I _know_ I shouldn't have let it happen, shouldn't have done it. Believe me, Gin–"

"Believe you?" she shouted, backing away. "You – you _used_ me without a second thought and you want me to _believe you_ that you're sorry? I hate you," she said, her voice full of contempt.

Harry said nothing, knowing he deserved it. He watched helplessly as Ginny stormed back out of his flat, slamming the door behind her with such force that the walls shook. He was glad, and a bit surprised, that she hadn't hexed him. Falling to the floor, he immediately began doing push-ups again. He moved quickly and roughly, trying to punish himself.

An hour later, when Harry had finally exhausted himself with push-ups and sit-ups, he sat on the floor, his back against the sofa. His head was flung over the cushions and he was watching the ceiling with a hopeless desperation.

The door opened and he closed his eyes, knowing who it was. He had given Ron the spare key to the flat when he had moved in, hoping Ron would leave the Burrow to come live with him in London.

"So," Ron said slowly. Harry could hear the rage in his voice. "Ginny says that... on Friday night, after you left my room, you went to hers. And you messed around with her. And now you're saying it was a mistake and it never should have happened."

"It was a mistake," Harry said miserably, "and it never should have happened."

"Right. Well. I just thought I should let you know. Hermione's coming back tomorrow."

Harry lifted his head and looked up at his friend. "She is?"

Ron nodded and tossed a piece of parchment at him. "I got her owl this morning."

Harry uncurled the paper and read over it quickly.

_Dear Ron,_  
My parents and I are flying home Wednesday afternoon. I'm going to be staying with them for a while, helping them get back to their normal lives in England. If it's all right with your mum, I'm hoping to stay at the Burrow for a few days before school starts. That way I can go to King's Cross with Ginny in September. I'll probably be able to stop by the Burrow this weekend, but I'll send you another owl once we're back in England to let you know exactly when. I can't wait to see you all again. I've missed you a lot.  
Love, Hermione  
P.S. Please pass the news on to Harry and Ginny. Thanks. 

When he finished reading, Harry looked up at Ron. "It'll be nice to have her back," he said awkwardly.

Ron walked over and snatched the note out of Harry's hands. "What the fuck is your problem, Harry?" he demanded suddenly.

Harry blinked, startled. "Er... excuse me?"

"What the fuck is your problem? You come and live with my family after the war and you fucking ignore me _and_ Ginny the entire time you're there. You move out because you're too fucking miserable there. Because Fred died. Like that has _anything_ to do with you. And you come here and you fuck around with my sister and then tell her it was a mistake. You spend all your bloody time with some cunting _Durmstrang_ bloke and you haven't talked to me properly in weeks! You aren't being yourself – you aren't being anyone I recognize at all. So, _Harry_ , I'm asking: what the _bloody fuck_ is your problem?"

Harry stared at Ron's shoes, unable to meet his friend's angry, hurt glare. "I don't know, Ron." he finally managed in a small voice. "I'm just... trying to figure out my life, you know? Ever since... I'm just having a hard time with everything right now. I'm sor–"

"You think you're the only one?" Ron roared. "Fuck you, Harry! _Fuck. You._ You think your life is the only one that's changed, the only one that's turned into a complete and fucking terrible, overwhelming, suffocating, devastating mess?"

Harry chanced a glance up at Ron and was surprised to see tears welled up in his eyes. Harry got to his feet and moved toward Ron, but then hesitated. In the moment of Harry's uncertainty, Ron's fury grew ten-fold.

"You think it's easy?" Ron barked, staring accusingly at Harry. "You think it's easy to go through this shit on your own? I'm in a house with a million people and it's the loneliest I've ever felt. You can't just..." Ron broke off, struggling to control his ragged breathing. He continued a moment later in a calm, steady voice. "You can't just abandon the people you claim to care about, Harry. It's wrong. It's _heartless_."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered pathetically. "I'm so sorry. I gave – I gave you the key! You could move in here. We could live together for Auror training–"

"You know that's not an option for me," Ron said stiffly. "My family needs me at home."

Harry looked down, the raw emotion in Ron's eyes far too much to handle. He wanted Ron to say so much more, but knew the silence in the room was final. Ron wanted Harry back at the Burrow; Ron's whole family wanted Harry back at the Burrow. But that wasn't enough for Harry. Living at the Burrow was sheer torture, and he knew he was being selfish, but he had to be in order to survive.

"Ron – I don't – I _can't_ –"

A knock on the door cut him off. He looked up, horrified as he remembered he was supposed to be expecting Yasha.

"Shit." Harry stared at the door, unmoving.

"Who's that?"

"Yasha..."

Ron frowned. "Who's Yasha."

"Yakov," Harry sighed. "He's the – the Durmstrang bloke. I invited – he, he said he was going to stop by tonight."

Harry could practically feel Ron shutting down as he walked to the door and opened it. Yasha leaned forward for a kiss but Harry stepped out of reach, a silent plea written across his face.

"Yasha, this is Ron," he motioned to Ron, who was shooting poisonous daggers at Yasha through cold blue eyes. "Ron this is – er, Yakov."

Yasha went to Ron and held out his hand, which Ron shook as briefly as possible. "Nice to meet you, Ron."

"Yeah," Ron scowled. "Well, I'm going home."

"You could stay," Harry offered pointlessly. "We could all... have a drink or – or something..."

"No. I'm going home." Ron pulled the key to Harry's flat out of his pocket and dropped it onto the coffee table before walking stiffly out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

"Is... is something wrong?" Yasha cautioned after a long, painful silence.

Harry turned to look at the key on the table and felt all the energy drain out of him. He sat weakly down on the sofa and covered his eyes with one of his hands.

"He hates me," he muttered. "And it's my own damn fault. I've ruined _everything_. I'm so... fucking stupid."

Yasha sat down next to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're not stupid."

"I am," Harry insisted, uncovering his eyes and reaching for the key. "You have no idea."

"Do you... do you want to talk about it?" Yasha asked kindly.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Harry shrugged and clenched the key tightly in his fist. "He's my best friend. And I'm so... I'm just so stupid." He sighed and dropped the key back on the table. He leaned back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. "He was the first friend I'd ever had in my entire life," he said quietly. "I met him on my very first trip to Hogwarts. And... I was living in his house after the war. But I moved out. I couldn't stay there. It was too hard."

"Yes," Yasha said when Harry paused. "I remember."

"I avoided him after that," Harry continued. "I knew he was upset that I'd left, that I'd left him there to deal with everything going on with his family by himself. And our other friend, our other best friend, she had to go to Australia to get her parents and... I just couldn't do it. I couldn't live in that house with them. It was too much. It was so _depressing_. I asked him to move in with me. Here. So he could get away, too, but... he stayed. It's his family. He had to stay."

Yasha put his hand on Harry's leg and ran his thumb along the seam of Harry's jeans. "Do you miss it there?"

Harry closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. "They're my family, too," he whispered, not trusting his voice. "They're the nicest people I've ever known and they've treated me like one of them from the very second I met them. They–" his voice broke and he took a long, deep breath. "They're my family, too."

Yasha took one of Harry's hands and held it tightly. "They are wonderful people, then. I don't think they hate you. Maybe Ron is angry, but if he is your best friend... if maybe he thinks you are his brother..."

"Oh, God." Harry slumped forward, covered his face with his free hand.

Yasha looked at Harry for a long moment, frowning. "Do you have feelings for him?"

Harry took another deep breath but said nothing. Finally, sitting up again, he squeezed Yasha's hand reassuringly. "I used to," he said, turning to face Yasha. "But now I have feelings for you."

Yasha smiled sadly. "You're very sweet, Harry. I think you need sleep now. Things... maybe you will feel better tomorrow, in the morning." Harry nodded and watched as Yasha stood and moved toward the open door. "I want to offer to spend the night, but I know the Aurors outside will be suspicious if I never leave."

In a rush of affection, Harry jumped and wrapped his arms tightly around Yasha. "Thank you for understanding," he whispered into Yasha's ear. "Thank you. Do you want... will you come back tomorrow?"

"Yes." Yasha kissed Harry hard before breaking the hug and stepping into the hallway. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Goodnight," Harry called as Yasha headed for the stairs. He closed the door and moved straight for his bed. Still in his work out shorts, he collapsed on it and waited for sleep to overtake him.

 

 

 

 

On Wednesday, Harry decided not to get out of bed. He was tired, though not enough to go back to sleep, and upset, though not enough to get up to do anything about it. Staring blindly up at the ceiling, he contemplated his friendship with Ron and tried to imagine having Hermione back in England. She had left as soon as possible after the war was over to recover her parents in Australia and it had been over a month since Harry had seen her. She wrote frequent letters to Ron, usually with a post script for Harry or instructions to let Harry read the letter. When Harry had moved out of the Burrow, he was sure Ron would mention it to Hermione, but he never got any letter from her.

He missed her. He missed Ron. He had gone from spending all day every day with his two best friends to being without them far too quickly. It didn't help that he was barely communicating with either of them, either. He missed the Burrow and the Weasleys. He missed a lot of things. Right in that moment, however, as he lay in bed trying not to think about how depressed he was, he also missed Yasha.

Heaving a great sigh, Harry ran his left hand up his chest and idly swirled a fingertip over one of his nipples. Licking his lips, he pushed his boxers to his thighs with his other hand and tugged on his awakening cock. He thought of Yasha's long fingers clutching his arse and of Yasha's cock thrusting against his own. Harry reached down and squeezed his balls before trailing his fingers back up and rubbing the head of his cock intently. He twitched, arching into his hand and biting his lip as heat coursed through his legs. He thought of Yasha's blue eyes...

"Rrrrro..." Harry growled, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking himself firmly. Ron's blue eyes replaced Yasha's and suddenly Harry was imaging himself under Ron, frotting against him as his slick, wet fingers traced patterns on Harry's perineum. Ron's hand moved lower and he slipped two fingers easily into Harry...

"Fuck," he grunted and gripped himself tighter, forcing his thoughts back to Yasha. Harry visualized the wild expression on Yasha's face as he had come between their writhing bodies. Gritting his teeth and pinching one nipple roughly, Harry forcefully yanked the orgasm out of his trembling body and come splashed on his chest and the sheets.

Panting, Harry let go of himself and looked back up at the ceiling. He didn't know what he was doing with Yasha or how things had even progressed this far. After so many years of wholeheartedly pretending to fancy girls, he had given himself up to that fate. However, now that he had been with another man, he couldn't imagine ever doing anything else. Being with Yasha felt infinitely better, more exciting, and more right than being with Ginny had ever felt.

Harry stayed in his bed, reading, until noon, when he finally decided to get up and take a shower. Once he was cleaned and dressed, he ventured out to his kitchen and contemplated his lunch options.

" _AVAD_ –"

" _STUPIFY_!"

Harry ran to his window and looked down at the pavement. A wizard badly disguised as a Muggle was dueling violently with two of Harry's usual Aurors.

"Fuck." Harry dashed to his room for his wand and came skidding back out, aiming some hasty protection spells at the window and then launching himself at his door.

The doorknob wouldn't budge. Harry set his jaw. He wasn't sure who would want to prevent him from leaving his flat – the Aurors, the Death Eaters, or both. He pounded on the door and screamed for someone to let him out. After a minute of constant banging, an Auror walked through the door as though it weren't a solid object. Harry stepped back and blinked at the Auror, momentarily distracted. He had never seen anyone besides a ghost travel through walls like that.

"Why can't I leave?" he demanded when the Auror raised an eyebrow at him.

The Auror rolled his eyes. "We are trying to _protect_ you, Potter. Letting you outside to face that Death Eater would be quite the opposite."

Harry glowered and decided not to respond. He walked back over to his window and watched the scene through the smudgy glass. The two Aurors had the Death Eater in a firm grip and seemed to be calmly discussing their next move. The Death Eater was shouting maniacally, though Harry couldn't hear what he was saying. After another minute, one of the Aurors let go of the Death Eater and stepped back as his colleague spun and Disapparated with the Death Eater.

Harry turned back around to face the Auror still standing in his living room. "Well, they took him away. You should probably go down. Start modifying the Muggles' memories."

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Potter," the Auror snapped. "You think it's that easy? You have a lot to learn. You've not even started Auror training yet and you're already acting like you're head of the bleeding department."

"Get out," Harry snarled, raising his wand.

Rolling his eyes again, the Auror turned and walked back through the door as though it weren't there. Harry waited a moment and then tried the doorknob again. It still wouldn't move. He kicked the door angrily, but then had a sharp, stabbing pain shooting up his leg that made him even angrier.

 

 

 

 

Harry tried to leave his flat several times an hour all afternoon, but he still couldn't get the doorknob to turn and he had no idea how to walk through a solid door like the Auror had done. He knew better than to try to Disapparate. The Aurors had control over who could and could not enter his flat by magical means, and if they didn't want him leaving, then he doubted he would find a way.

After dinner, Harry had resigned himself to leafing through old _Daily Prophets_ on his couch. He looked up when he heard something hit his window and saw a small stone crash into the glass.

"What the–" Harry tossed the newspapers aside and went to look out the window. Yasha was out on the pavement, chucking rocks up at Harry's flat and struggling to get past three Aurors and into the building.

Harry tried to open the window but had no luck. He knocked loudly on the pane until the Aurors looked up at him. He motioned furiously for them to bring Yasha inside and, after a few seconds of what looked like intense arguing amongst the four men, the Aurors escorted Yasha into the building.

There was knocking on Harry's door a minute later and he cautiously opened it. The Aurors were standing in the hallway, two of them standing on either side of Yasha and gripping his arms very tightly.

"Thanks for unhexing my door," Harry said in a flat voice. "Would you mind letting go of my friend?"

"You know this man?" the Auror in front said, his eyes glinting maliciously.

"Yes. And you bloody should, too. He was here last night and the Minister himself ran a background a check on him and decided he's not a threat to me. Now fucking let go of him!"

"Not yet." The Auror in front motioned the other two to bring Yasha inside the flat. He followed and closed the door behind him.

"Is there any particular reason," Harry spoke through clenched teeth, trying his best to stay calm, "why you are treating my friend like a criminal?"

"Who is this man?" the Auror to the right of Yasha asked gruffly.

"His name is Yakov Dmitriev, as I'm sure he told you. Kingsley fucking Shacklebolt has said he's _not a threat_. He's my _friend_ and he's allowed to visit me."

"We take our orders from Robards," the third Auror chided. "And he's said nothing about allowing foreign wizards to visit you."

"Let. Him. Go," Harry growled, his eyes flashing.

The two Aurors holding Yasha looked at each other for a moment and then thrust Yasha at Harry. Harry caught the other man, brushing his fingers gently over the harsh bruises blooming on Yasha's arms.

"You say he's been here before?" the first Auror asked, watching Harry suspiciously.

"Last night," Harry said, not taking his eyes off Yasha's colorful arms. "After Ron was here. And Ginny. It wasn't a problem then, why is it a problem now?"

" _We_ weren't on duty yesterday," the gruff wizard barked. "And we're doing our _job_ , which is to protect _you_. After what happened earlier today, you should have gotten it through your thick skull that _you're in danger_. We have the right to deny suspicious visitors entry to this building.

"He's not suspicious, he's my friend!" Harry shouted as the Aurors filed back out of his flat. "You ask the Minister. He's a _friend_ , not an enemy!"

"Right. _Friend_." The last Auror laughed harshly as he slammed the door in Harry's face.

"Bloody _IDIOTS_!" Harry shouted after them. He turned quickly to Yasha. "Are you all right?" he asked moodily, lifting one of Yasha's arms and looking more closely at the bruises.

"I'm fine." Yasha shrugged. Harry noticed Yasha was shaking, though he didn't know if it was from fear, anger, or pain. "Why did that happen?" Yasha asked quietly.

"Come on, sit down." Harry led Yasha over to the sofa and sat down next to him. "A Death Eater tried to break in this afternoon. I guess they've decided to tighten security. I wasn't allowed to leave my flat all day. I'm really... I'm sorry about all that. Hopefully they won't be so stupid next time."

"I was out there for almost an hour yelling at them," Yasha said, rolling his stiff shoulders. "I didn't see the rocks until just now. I tried to come over at an earlier time. I'm sorry it's so late now."

Harry glanced at his watch. "It's only nine. It's not so late. Don't worry about it."

"Yes, but I can't stay long now," Yasha explained, touching one of his bruises tenderly.

"Why not?"

Yasha looked up at Harry, his eyebrows raised. "Because you don't want the Aurors to know about us."

Harry looked down at his hands for a moment. "Yeah." He glanced back up at Yasha, a hint of nervous defiance in his expression. "But I don't care anymore. You can stay the night. If you want, I mean. Would you? Like to... do you want to stay over tonight?"

Yasha bit back a grin. "I want very much to stay here tonight. Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, leaning forward to kiss Yasha.

 

 

 

 

A chest was expanding and contracting. Slow, deep breathing filled the room with a soft hissing. Harry felt himself suffocating as he opened his mouth to breath in and the clear sound of an exhaled sigh rang through his ears. He gasped for air and opened his eyes as the realization hit him that there was another chest pressed against his, another person in his bed. Yasha's face was buried in Harry's neck, his breath sending waves of warm air over Harry's skin. Harry licked his lips and swallowed dryly, not entirely sure how he felt about the bitter aftertaste of Yasha's come still lingering on his tongue.

His stomach growled loudly and Yasha shifted slightly, looking up at Harry with one eye open.

"Dobr – eeungh... mmmm..." Yasha mumbled incoherently, curling into a tight ball.

Harry chuckled silently, massaging Yasha's scalp gently and kissing him on the forehead.

Yasha looked back up at Harry and grinned sheepishly. "Good morning."

"Morning," Harry whispered as he brushed his thumb over Yasha's lips.

Yasha kissed Harry's thumb and then rolled onto his back. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon," Harry said as he picked his watch off the nightstand. He put his glasses on and watched as Yasha stretched, biting his lip and admiring Yasha's defined muscles rippling in the sunlight coming through the window shade.

"I'm going to Russia today," Yasha commented casually.

Harry frowned slightly. "What for?"

"To visit my f-f-family," Yasha yawned, "and some friends. I'm coming back Sunday night."

"How are you getting there?" Harry asked curiously.

"Portkey from the Ministry here to the one in Moscow. Then I'll take the metro to my mother's flat. It's easier than finding somewhere to Disapparate."

"Do you stay with your mum when you're in Russia?"

"Yes. And my brother, Lyosha, lives in the same building with his wife. It will be nice to see them. I haven't been home in a few months. It's very busy for me here."

Harry draped one leg over Yasha's and moved closer, swirling random patterns on Yasha's arm with his fingertips. "Sounds like fun," he said quietly. "Is your dad not around?"

Yasha drummed his fingers on his chest, contemplating the question. "He's around. I haven't seen him in many years. He left my mother when I was still in school. I didn't like him very much. And I don't think he liked me very much. I was not sad to see him go."

Harry nodded sympathetically and kissed Yasha's shoulder. "Are both your parents magical?"

"Yes, and my brother. My mother owns a robe shop in Moscow. And my brother, I think I told you, he works for the Russian Ministry. I don't know what my father does now. He had a lot of different jobs when I was young."

Harry pulled Yasha's earlobe with his teeth and Yasha laughed and pushed him away playfully.

"Would you like breakfast?" Harry asked, sitting up and looking down at Yasha's naked body. "I can make toast. Or, I might have enough eggs to make omelettes if you want me to check."

"I'll eat some toast," Yasha said, grinning up at Harry.

Harry dressed quickly and went out to the living room to find an Auror sitting on his sofa. He immediately drew his wand out of his back pocket and aimed it at the man, blind fury pulsing violently through his veins.

"Get the _fuck_ out."

The Auror stood and turned to face Harry, apparently unfazed by the threat. Harry recognized him as one of the wizards from the night before. "Morning, Potter," he said, a sharp mocking tone in his voice. "Did you have a good lie-in?"

"I said get the FUCK OUT!" Harry bellowed, stampeding forward and jabbing his wand into the Auror's chest.

"Watch it," the man barked, stepping out of Harry's reach. "You have no right to speak to me like that."

"You have," Harry managed, shaking with anger and the effort to suppress it, " _no... right..._ to be here. Get. The. Fuck. Out."

"As you wish... _Potter_." The Auror snarled at Harry as he left, slamming the door behind him.

Harry stood there for a moment, trying to breathe normally again, before turning around and seeing Yasha standing his bedroom doorway.

"Did he see you?" Harry demanded, his eyes wide.

"What?"

"Did he see you?"

"I – no... who are you talking about? Who was here?"

"Bloody Auror." Harry stowed his wand away and ran his hands over his face, sighing heavily.

"It's okay." Yasha stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling the younger man into a warm hug. "It's no big deal. Your friends will find out sooner or later–"

Harry groaned and pulled away from Yasha. "I don't care," he said unconvincingly. "I'm just hungry. I need to eat. I'll go make the toast."

Yasha watched, unmoving, as Harry prepared their breakfast. They ate at the kitchen table in silence and cleaned up without saying a word to each other, the tension in the room slowly dissolving.

"When do you have to be at the Ministry?" Harry finally asked, setting the plates he had just washed on the drying rack.

"The Portkey leaves at three o'clock. I need to be there at two, I think. For security checks."

Harry nodded and sat back down at the table with Yasha. "Are there always security checks for Ministry Portkeys?"

Yasha shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe only for international ones."

"Is it hard? Traveling so far by Portkey?"

Yasha nodded, frowning slightly as though he weren't looking forward to the afternoon. "It is very tiring. Almost like running the whole distance."

"Why don't you just fly, then? You can sleep on planes."

Yasha shook his head. "Planes take too long. And they are expensive. It is safer just to use a Portkey, even if it makes me sleepy."

Harry smiled. "I guess that makes sense. Do you have to go home and pack? You only have about an hour left."

"No." Yasha shrugged. "I have clothes in Russia. I don't need anything."

"Good." Harry grinned and stood, pulling Yasha up with him. "Then I can give you a proper goodbye." He pushed Yasha onto the couch and climbed on top of him, kissing along his collarbone.

"You are very good at saying goodbye," Yasha teased, reaching around and holding Harry's arse, encouraging the younger man to rut against him.

Harry crushed his lips over Yasha's and rocked his hips desperately, amazed at how much and how easily Yasha turned him on. He grabbed Yasha's shirt and pulled it off quickly, then ran his hands appreciatively over Yasha's chest as he flexed his arse in Yasha's strong hands.

"I'll miss you," Harry breathed into Yasha's ear as he reached down between them and undid Yasha's fly.

Loud, harsh knocking cut through the moans filling the air. Harry froze, his hand awkwardly cupping Yasha's balls.

"Fuck," he spat, standing and heading for the door. The Aurors were going too far, he thought furiously. He didn't care if they saw him with Yasha; he was going to make sure they left him alone. He flung the door open and froze again, this time in shock.

"HARRY!" Hermione's loud, shrill voice echoed around them as she jumped into the flat to hug him enthusiastically. She stepped back after a moment, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she compulsively glanced down at his trousers.

"Hermione," Harry began weakly, trying to distract her. "How – how are you? I mean, how _are_ you? How – where are your – why – what are you doing here?" He babbled senselessly, his panicked brain refusing to work properly.

Hermione glanced over his shoulder to see Yasha scrambling to finish buttoning his jeans and get back into his t-shirt. "I'm great," she said, her unnaturally high-pitched voice betraying her bright and easy smile. "I just wanted... to say hi."

Harry nodded, digging his hands into his pockets. He glanced out in the hallway. "Are your parents here?"

"No," she said quickly. "They're at home. I'm on my way to see Ron – er, everyone at the Burrow and I thought... I thought I might stop by here first. Ginny gave me your address."

Harry continued nodding, unable to stop the motion. "Yeah, yeah, no, that... that's good. It's great to see you, really." He smiled nervously, a sinking feeling coming over him as he heard Yasha approaching the door. "Er, this... this is Yash – Yakov. He...'s from Durmstrang."

"We've met," Hermione said awkwardly, shaking Yasha's hand. "You're... friends with Viktor, right? Viktor Krum?"

"Yes." Yasha smiled politely, unsure what to do in all the uncomfortable anxiety. "It's good to see you again, Hermione."

"Yes... you, too. _Well_ ," she said quickly, taking a deep breath and making a brave attempt at a natural, unaffected expression. "I should go. I told Ron I would be there soon. I'll... can I come by on Saturday? I have some presents for you."

"Of course. I – I don't have any plans for Saturday. You can come over whenever you want. I don't know if you want to send an owl... all my mail's being screened at the Ministry and it might take a while to get here. But you can just show up whenever, no problem."

"How about seven? We can go out to dinner? Anywhere you like. Birthday Boy's choice."

"Great," Harry said, a genuine smile on his lips. "That sounds perfect."

"Okay." Hermione grinned, obviously relieved the visit was over. "Well, I'll see you then, Harry." Despite herself, she reached out and hugged him again. As Harry's arousal had disappeared, she allowed the embrace to linger for a moment before letting go again. "I've missed you a lot," she whispered, emotion welling up in her voice. "I had no idea you'd moved. I promise I would have written if I'd known."

Harry shrugged it off. "It's no problem, really. Ron brought letters by for me to read... I knew you didn't know."

Hermione nodded and grasped his hands tightly, staring hard into his face. "Have you been... have you been doing all right?"

Harry nodded. "I've been great," he lied as she dropped his hands and stepped back into the hallway.

"Good. I'll see you Saturday at seven, then. Bye, Yasha."

"Bye," Harry and Yasha said together as Harry closed the door. His hand remained on the doorknob, gripping it with white knuckles.

"I forgot you are friends with Hermione," Yasha said, sliding his hands under Harry's shirt and tracing Harry's tense back muscles. "She is a very nice girl. Viktor said only the best things about her."

"Yeah." Harry turned and dipped his hands in Yasha's jeans, cupping Yasha's bare arse. "She's – she's great."

"Yes." Yasha leaned forward to nip at Harry's earlobe. "She is great. You have nothing to worry about. She's your friend and she saw us together and she doesn't hate you."

Deciding not to argue, Harry pushed both of their trousers to the floor and backed against the door, pulling Yasha with him. He licked his palm and took their re-awakened cocks in his, stroking them quickly.

Yasha moaned, breathing heavily against Harry's ear. "Is it," he panted, "your birthday – on Saturday?"

Harry smiled and tightened his grip, causing Yasha to gasp. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," Yasha groaned into Harry's neck, "I won't be here."

"It's fine," Harry whispered, arching away from the door as Yasha's hands grabbed at his arse. "We can – uuhh – celebrate when you – unng – get back."

"Yes." Yasha kissed Harry hard as he thrust his hips into Harry's hand, their balls knocking into each other. "Yes," he groaned and bit down roughly on Harry's shoulder as he came.

Harry yelped at the bite and continued stroking both of their cocks, his hand now slick with Yasha's come. Yasha batted Harry's hand away and replaced it with his own, quickly tugging an orgasm out from Harry's quivering thighs.

Grunting, Harry slumped back against the door. Yasha mouthed Harry's neck lazily.

Eventually Yasha straightened up and looked at Harry. "Is it okay if I tell my family about us?"

Harry nodded, too surprised by the use of the word "us" to say no.

"Good." Yasha smiled and kissed Harry briefly. "I promise they will not tell anyone."

Harry nodded again as Yasha stepped back and extracted his wand from the tangle of clothes on the floor. After aiming a cleaning spell over himself and Harry, he dressed and checked that he hadn't left anything around the flat.

Harry pulled up his jeans and watched Yasha closely. "How come you didn't tell me you knew Hermione?"

Yasha shrugged as he sat on the couch and bent over to tie his shoes. "I forgot she was your friend. I met many people at Hogwarts." He glanced once at Harry before turning his attention to his second shoe. "I think Viktor still wishes things went better with her."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? I think – I know Hermione fancied him. I think she fancied him quite a lot, actually. But she's also always had a huge thing for Ron. They're together now."

"Your angry red-haired friend?" Yasha asked, standing and checking his pockets for his wand and his wallet.

"Yes," Harry said, laughing slightly. "My angry red-haired friend." He checked his watch. "You'd better hurry up. You're almost late."

"I'm ready." Yasha walked back over to the door and pulled Harry into a hug. "Thanks for letting me stay here last night. I hope there's no trouble with the Aurors because of me."

"It's fine," Harry said before kissing Yasha hard, grabbing Yasha's brown hair and holding their heads together.

"I have to go," Yasha said breathlessly when he finally pulled away.

Harry grinned, stepped out of Yasha's arms, and opened the door. "I'll see you next week? Do you want to do dinner on Monday?" he asked, shooing Yasha into the hallway.

Yasha stepped forward and squeezed Harry's arse. "Do you want to stay over my place on Sunday night? My Portkey gets in at eight, so I'll be home by nine."

"You won't be too tired?"

"No. Not for you."

Harry laughed and kissed Yasha briefly. "Then I'll be there at nine." He shoved Yasha into the hallway and watched happily as Yasha bolted for the stairs. "Bye!"

 

 

 

 

On Saturday morning, Harry woke up when an owl flew directly into his window. He started at the loud noise, sitting up and reaching for his wand. Then he noticed the dark shape hovering outside and grabbed his glasses instead. He let the owl in, but as soon as he untied the parcel from its leg, it flew off again. Harry looked down at the note attached to the tiny box and saw Kingsley's handwriting. Harry had known it would be from the Minister, as he was the only one allowed to send Harry a direct owl.

Wondering what he had done wrong this time, Harry unfolded the note.

_Harry,_  
Happy Birthday.  
All your birthday mail is being searched and will be delivered tomorrow morning. Here is something to tide you over/by way of an apology for the inconvenient anticipation.  
Kingsley 

Harry dropped the note on his dresser and opened the box, finding a gift certificate to Eeylops Owl Emporium. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of this gift as he wasn't allowed to receive any owl post at the moment. If he bought an owl, he wondered, would he be able to send mail?

Deciding not to think on it, Harry put the certificate on top of Kingsley's note and went out to the kitchen to look for any sort of food that seemed special enough for a birthday breakfast. Once all of his cupboards had been thoroughly inspected and very little food had been found, he gave up the hunt and decided on toast. As he was getting out the bread, there was an enthusiastic knock on his door.

Puzzled, but knowing whoever it was would have had to have gotten past his Aurors, he opened his door.

"Happy birthday, Harry!!" Mrs. Weasley was standing in the hallway holding out a tray of delicious-looking food, including an omelette and sausages.

Harry's mouth dropped at the sight. "M-Mrs. Weasley!"

"I made you breakfast, dear," she said, beaming. "Figured you'd want something nice for the occasion."

"Wow. Um. Thank you! Please, come in." He stepped aside and once Mrs. Weasley had put the food down on his table, she embraced him tightly.

"Oh!" Harry patted her on the back a few times before she finally let go. "Um... thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I really... was not expecting this." He appreciated her kind efforts but felt awkward standing there in only a pair of shorts with her in his kitchen. He wondered how much she knew about the current state of affairs between him and Ron. Or him and Ginny.

"I also brought you this," she said brightly, pulling a large cake box out of her tiny purse.

"Mrs. Weasley." Harry stared as she put the cake down next to his breakfast. "You shouldn't have. Really."

"Nonsense. It's your birthday. I finally had an excuse to stop by. Haven't seen hide nor hair of you at the Burrow lately. You've only come over once since you moved out."

Harry blushed. "I – you don't need an excuse to come over. You're always welcome here."

Mrs. Weasley smiled politely. "And the same goes for you at the Burrow. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? Celebrate your birthday properly. I'll make all your favorite foods!"

Harry felt like sinking into the floor, even though he had known the invitation was coming. "Oh, um. That – I mean – that sounds great, Mrs. Weasley, but I can't." He watched the smile fade from her face and felt a strong pang of guilt. "It's just – I've already got dinner plans. With Hermione..."

To Harry's surprise, Mrs. Weasley brightened up again. "Oh! You know, I asked Ron if he wanted to come with me this morning, but he said he was doing something with you later. I didn't realize he and Hermione were treating you to dinner."

Harry forced a smile, wondering if Hermione had actually invited Ron to their dinner date and hoping guiltily she had not. He didn't want to deal with that on his birthday.

"I'm quite glad to hear it, really," she continued, oblivious to Harry's awkward silence. "You've been so elusive lately I thought something was wrong. I know you and Ginny are still on a break, but I was beginning to worry about you and Ron, too. It's good to know everything is back to normal. You know, I had thought Hermione coming home would do the trick."

Harry continued smiling, the number of things wrong with what she had just said rendering him temporarily speechless.

"You should come visit more often," she said slowly, now concerned with Harry's prolonged silence. "Now Hermione's back... spend some time with her and Ron... and Ginny..."

Harry's tight-lipped smile faltered as he forced himself to start speaking. "Yes. Well. I... I'll do that."

Mrs. Weasley frowned and took a moment to look him over closely. "You are taking care of yourself, aren't you, Harry? You look far too thin."

"Of course I'm taking care of myself." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Never felt better."

This last bit was obviously a lie, but Mrs. Weasley recognized it as the end of their conversation, anyway.

"Well, I'd better let you eat before it gets cold." She smiled politely again and moved toward the door. "Please do try to come for dinner sometime. It's doesn't feel like summer without you there."

Harry watched sadly as Mrs. Weasley left without saying goodbye. He would have given anything to feel at home in the Burrow again, but with the way things were with Ginny and Ron, he really wasn't sure when that time would come.

He ate his birthday breakfast in silence, trying hard to imagine what Mrs. Weasley would say if she knew that he and Ginny were not, in fact, on a break, but rather that he had recently given a blowjob to a foreign wizard.

After an unremarkable day, during which Neville had shown up to give him a rare singing plant along with some firewhisky from Dean and Seamus, Harry was quite looking forward to his dinner with Hermione.

When she finally knocked on his door just before seven o'clock, he let her in and hugged her tightly, now having had a chance to fully appreciate the fact that she had come home.

"What was that for?" she asked, smiling.

"Just glad you're back," he answered honestly. "I didn't realize how strange it was for you to be gone until you were here again. Things feel right, now."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I don't think I've ever heard such sentiments from you before, Harry." She paused to consider his blush. "But, thank you. It is really good to be back. And, anyway, happy birthday!" She pulled two presents out of her handbag and gave them to him.

"Oh, great, thank you." He unwrapped the smaller one first and found a book.

"It's about indigenous magic of Australia," she explained excitedly. "Most of it's Dark. I found it fascinating. It seemed like something you might enjoy, since you're going to be an Auror and all."

Harry laughed and put the book down on the kitchen table. "I'm sure it's great, thanks." He opened the second one and grinned widely. "A boomerang? Brilliant!"

Hermione beamed at him. "I thought, you know, since I was in Australia and all..."

"Thanks." Harry hugged her again.

"You're welcome. Shall we go to dinner, then?"

"Yes, please!"

 

 

 

 

After a peaceful dinner, during which they managed to keep up conversation by talking solely about Hermione's parents and her time in Australia, Harry and Hermione returned to Harry's flat to eat the cake Mrs. Weasley had dropped off that morning.

"That was so nice of her," Hermione said, watching Harry cut two large slices.

"It really was. She brought me breakfast, too." He handed her a plate and a fork before guiding her over to sit on the sofa.

"Wow."

"Yeah..." Harry took a bite and chewed it thoughtfully. "She said Ron had said something about seeing me later today... for a while I thought maybe you'd invited him along to dinner."

"Well, I had," Hermione admitted. "But he refused."

Harry looked down at his birthday cake, not sure what to think about this. "Oh. Right."

"He seemed to think you wouldn't want him here."

Harry sighed deeply, ignoring Hermione's intense stare. "Of course that's not true. He's my best friend. We're just... you know..."

"Actually, I don't," she said pointedly.

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "He hasn't said anything?"

"Oh, he says plenty. Nothing nice and nothing detailed, but that's generally how it is with him, isn't it? His mum on the other hand... well, she won't stop going on about how she hasn't seen you in ages and how she's worried about you and Ron... and you and Ginny, obviously."

"Obviously?" Harry cried out. "She said this morning she thinks Ginny and I are still on a break! Why hasn't Ginny said anything to her?"

"I'm quite sure, until recently, Ginny thought the same."

Harry could tell from the severe tone in her voice that Ron or Ginny, or perhaps both, had told her what had happened.

"Oh," he said after a guilty silence.

Hermione sighed. "That's all you have to say for yourself?"

"No," Harry muttered. "I don't know. I didn't mean to hurt her. I just – I was confused and I... I fucked everything up."

Hermione watched Harry as he ran a hand tiredly over his face. She put her cake down on the coffee table. "I know you didn't mean to hurt her, but you did. A lot. And I think the only way to fix it is to be honest with her. With everyone."

Harry put his cake next to hers and turned to face her, shaking his head. "Hermione–"

"There is no reason to lie about who Yasha is, Harry. Ron told me you've been spending all your time with 'some Durmstrang bloke.' He's upset because he thinks you're replacing him. He's jealous. If you just tell him–"

" _Just_ tell him?" Harry scoffed. "Hermione, there is a _reason_ I haven't told anyone about this."

"Things with Ginny," Hermione began reasonably, but Harry cut her off.

"Are only part of it. Has it escaped your attention that Ron is a raging homophobe?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Apparently. He's never said a word to me on the subject."

"Yeah, well, you didn't share a dormitory with him for six years," he said bitterly.

"Things are bound to be said in dormitories, Harry. I'm sure he didn't mean them. It was probably just for a laugh. You know how crude he can be."

"No one but him was laughing. No one else ever made those sorts of comments."

Hermione paused to consider this and Harry picked up his cake again.

"He's your best friend," she finally said. "And I really don't see something like this changing that. He misses you."

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "I thought you said he never says anything nice about me."

"He's hurt, Harry. He doesn't understand who Yasha is or why you'd rather spend all your time with 'some Durmstrang bloke' instead of with him."

"I wouldn't rather – he just..." Harry sighed angrily and tried to collect his thoughts. "I've tried telling him," he said slowly. "I've said things, I've dropped hints, I've made comments. And every time it comes up, he gets upset. He's knows I'm not a homophobe, but he's got no problem letting me know he _is_."

"He loves you, Harry," Hermione whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "He's your best friend. And you're his. There's nothing that would ever change that, not after all we've... all _you've_ been through together."

"I used to think that," Harry grumbled. "But look at us now.

"Harry–"

_"It's a day! What a day! It's your birthday! Hurray!"_

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "What was that?"

"Neville," Harry groaned. "He gave me a signing plant for my birthday." He pointed at the innocent-looking plant in the corner. "Said it's rare. Can't imagine why."

"Oh, dear."

They sat in silence for a few moments, eating cake, until Harry asked, "What does he say about me, exactly?"

Hermione frowned sternly at him. "Don't be like this."

"No, I want to know. Tell me all the terrible things Ron's been saying about me."

She signed dramatically. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Because I'll tell you, but then you'll just be even more upset."

"I can handle it. Tell me."

Rolling her eyes again, Hermione picked at what was left of her cake with her fork. "He says you're a selfish git who's being self-centered about his pain and who refuses to think about other people's suffering."

Harry paused, surprised by this, but then went on the defensive. "I'm not being selfish."

" _I_ didn't say–"

"And I'm not – of course I think about other people's pain!"

"Harry–"

"But I'm suffering, too!" he said, a bit louder than necessary. "I've spent the last seven years working to save the whole fucking world from Tom Riddle and I deserve a little break, Hermione! I need to be on my own, to be an adult, to be self-sufficient. I need to figure out who the fuck I am besides the Boy Who Lived!"

Hermione blinked, startled by his outburst. She put her plate slowly back down. "Harry, I didn't say _I_ think you're being selfish. I told you – Ron's only speaking out of hurt feelings."

"Still," he muttered by way of a comeback.

She sighed deeply. "I understand why you'd want to disappear in Muggle London. I can only imagine what it's been like for you. But hiding isn't healthy. You need other people – everyone does. Friends are supposed to give comfort and support. And that's what I want, what we all want to do. Maybe things with Ron and Ginny aren't great right now, but sooner or later everything will go back to normal."

"Normal!" Harry huffed. "Hermione, you don't understand. I don't know what 'normal' is. I spent the first eleven years of my life living in cupboard under some stairs and the next seven trying to save the world from an evil wizard! I mean – it's just _not_ normal. I've finally got space to try to figure out who I am and no one will leave me alone! Why can't I just get some peace? I don't deserve it because I'm famous? Why??"

Hermione was sitting sadly, watching Harry vent. "Closing yourself off from your friends isn't going to help you figure out who you are. You have to learn how to exist in a society."

"I haven't cut myself off," Harry snapped. "You're here. I saw Ron's mum and Neville today. I see Yasha."

Hermione stood up suddenly. "I don't know what you want me to say. Do you want me to tell you to sit here for the rest of the summer, moping about your friendships? Because I'm trying to help you fix them and all you're doing is shouting at me!"

Harry looked up at her. "I'm not–"

"Yes, you are."

Harry took a deep breath to steady his emotions and then stood to face her. "I'm sorry. You don't deserve to be shouted at. I just – I'm so... I'm having a hard time right now, is all. I don't know what's going on anymore. Nothing... nothing makes sense to me anymore," he admitted sadly.

"I know. But, believe it or not, you're not the only one who feels that way. Not by a long shot. No one knows what's going on or what to do next. We need... we need to work these things out together, to try to move on together. That's the only way any of us are going to get through this."

Harry nodded, looking down at their unfinished cake. "Are you leaving?" he asked quietly.

"I think that's probably best."

He nodded again, feeling guilt and regret sinking into his stomach. "I'm sorry."

"I understand. I do. And it's all right. I just want you and Ron to make up. There's no reason why you can't still be friends just because of Yasha."

Harry decided not to respond to this. He looked back up at Hermione. "Will you come again?"

She managed a smile. "Of course I will." She started moving toward the door. "I've got another month before school starts. I'm sure we can... do lunches. And I'm – I'm sorry for... on your birthday..."

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I've had worse."

"I'm sorry, anyway. Happy birthday." She hugged him briefly before hurrying out the door.

Harry sat back down on the sofa, closing his eyes and wishing he could re-do the entire conversation he'd just had with Hermione.

_"It's a day! What a day! It's your birthday! Hurray!"_

Glaring at Neville's plant, Harry summoned the firewhisky he'd gotten from Dean and Seamus. He ate the rest of his and Hermione's cake in silence, taking a few shots of the burning alcohol along the way. By the time he crawled into bed he was drunk for the first time in his life. He felt terrible; his head ached in new and awful ways, his stomach felt like it was trying to escape into his lungs, and his throat felt like it had been coated with acid.

"Worst birthday ever," he moaned, covering his ears as the plant burst loudly into song again.

 

 

 

 

Harry woke up on Sunday with a pounding headache. He moaned into his pillow, found that this hurt his head even more, and silently wished to die. His stomach was churning unpleasantly and he wasn't sure if he was too hot or too cold, but he was definitely shaking.

Deciding he would rather not vomit in his own bed, Harry sat up without opening his eyes. The new position did nothing good for either his head or his stomach. He couldn't remember ever having felt this sick in his life. He hiccoughed and groaned, forcing himself to open his eyes and head for the loo. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet as his stomach began lurching uncontrollably.

When the painful heaving finally subsided, he flushed the toilet and slouched back against the wall. His still felt nauseated and his head was throbbing worse than ever.

There was loud knocking on the door to his flat, but Harry ignored it. He was in no state to stand up, let alone entertain company. To his horror, he heard the front door open. Not wanting any Auror to see him in this condition, he kicked the door to the loo closed, the bang echoing in his head.

"Harry?"

It was Kingsley's voice. Harry moaned, more embarrassed than ever. Why did the Minister for Magic have to show up _now_ , when Harry was in the middle of dealing with his very first, and very horrible, hangover.

"Are you in there?" Kingsley asked, knocking.

Harry mumbled a response and the door opened slowly.

"Blimey!" Kingsley crouched down quickly and grabbed Harry's face. "Are you all right? Are you poisoned? What happened?"

Harry pushed Kingsley's hands away weakly. "'M fine," his whispered. "Just hungover."

Kingsley paused, frowning, then grabbed Harry under his arms and pulled him up. Harry immediately leaned back over the toilet and retched again, his stomach protesting violently to the sudden movement.

Kingsley held him up as he spat out stomach acid, then shut the toilet lid and pushed him down to sit on it.

"You need water," Kingsley said, filling a glass at the sink and holding it out to Harry. "You're dehydrated."

Harry, who wanted nothing less in the world than to put anything into his mouth ever again, took the glass and stared mournfully into it.

"Come on," Kingsley insisted. "You'll feel better."

Harry brought the glass to his lips and took a sip. His stomach gurgled in a hungry sort of way, so he took a larger drink.

"Party a little too hard on your birthday?" Kingsley asked, sitting down awkwardly on the edge of the tub.

"Not really," Harry rasped.

"All evidence to the contrary."

Harry said nothing and took another gulp of water.

"I came to give you your presents," Kingsley explained as Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. "There were too many to send by owl and I wanted to see how you've been holding up."

"I'm splendid," Harry said, attempting to roll his eyes but stopping halfway through the effort because of the pain it caused. "I was until this morning, anyway."

"I don't suppose you have a hangover potion handy?"

"I wish I did," Harry sighed. "I didn't know such a thing existed."

"You might want to go to St. Mungo's. You're far too pale for my liking."

"No," Harry said quickly. "No. I just need more water. I'm fine." He would have loved for a Healer to cure his hangover with a simple flick of the wand, but there was no way he was going to the hospital for something as silly as a hangover.

Kingsley stood and guided Harry slowly into the kitchen, where he started trying to make a breakfast Harry had no intention of eating.

"When was the last time you had a proper meal?" Kingsley asking, staring around at all the empty cupboards he had opened.

"I went out for dinner last night," Harry explained. "With Hermione. I go out a lot for food."

Kingsley refilled Harry's glass and sat down at the table with him.

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

"Yes," Harry insisted. "You've just caught me at a bad moment." He took another sip of water.

"Are you starting to feel better?"

Harry nodded. "Anyway, what are you doing here? Don't you have, you know... important things to do? Being Minister and all?"

"I take Sunday mornings off. For personal business."

"You came to visit me in your free time?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "That's sick, Kingsley."

"Perhaps. I've been worried about you. I was surprised you didn't try to contact me after the incident with that Death Eater."

Harry glared across the table. "I have no way of contacting you."

"That's not true. You know you can always use your Patronus. Besides, that's why I sent you that gift. So you can buy a new owl."

"I'm allowed?" Harry asked skeptically.

"To send mail, yes. Any replies still need to go through the Ministry, of course."

"Of course," Harry muttered into his glass before taking another drink.

"He's been put in Azkaban, if you wanted to know. The Death Eater. Along with all the rest."

"Was he the same one who tried to break in a few weeks ago?"

Kingsley shook his head. "No. He had no idea about that. They were two completely separate attacks, which just goes to show we were right to be worried about your safety."

"Bully."

There was a pause before Kingsley spoke again, this time in a softer voice.

"I want to apologize for what happened with Mr. Dmitriev the other day. I've had words with the Aurors. They had no right to be so rude with him."

Harry licked his dry lips. "They said they didn't take orders from you, that they only listen to Robards."

"Yes, well. Some of the older and more... er, stubborn Aurors... they're more loyal to him. It's understandable, I think, given everything that's going on. Robards has been involved in the Auror department for a long time. I was... I was never as popular there. I always did my own thing and there's an odd sort of pack mentality going on. I'm hoping the next batch we bring in won't be that way... you being in that batch, of course."

"Of course," Harry muttered again, now not entirely sure he even wanted to be an Auror anymore.

"Anyway, they knew better than to treat Mr. Dmitriev that way. I think they were trying to get you back for how you've been treating them."

"Oh, good. So, because I was rude to them, they're going to be rude to all my friends?"

"I've had words with them," Kingsley repeated. "If it happens again, we're going to have to rethink the way your security is being handled."

Harry snorted into his glass as he finished it off. Kingsley refilled it again with a wave of his wand.

"And the Auror that was in your living room the next morning," Kingsley said gently. "That won't happen again, either."

Harry stared hard at the floor, knowing his face was as red as could be. "All right," he mumbled.

"I dare say the Aurors' attitudes might have something to do with that... some of them aren't the most cultured men."

Harry covered his face with his hands, feeling utterly humiliated. "Look, can we not have this conversation?" he begged.

"Why not?" Kingsley asked, sounding surprised.

Harry looked up at him. "Because you're in your bloody Minister's robes! I'm half-naked and I'm sick and I don't want to discuss my... _this_ with you."

"Harry, I'm not the Minister right now. I'm your friend. I know this can't be easy on you–"

"You don't know anything about it," Harry said darkly. "And I'm not discussing it with you. Your pathetic excuses for Aurors are appalling. I thought they were supposed to be clever and quick-witted. These men are pigs and I want nothing to do with any of them."

"Not all of our Aurors are like that. You'll see in the fall. The ones who conduct most of the training are actually some of the best we've got. And you'll be one of them soon. These, er, 'pigs' are likely to retire soon, anyway. Most of them fought in both wars against Voldemort. They're tired. They're overworked. They're bitter as hell and they're taking it out on you. I know it's not fair, but you're not exactly kind to them either."

"That doesn't give them any right to nose in my private life," Harry said bitterly.

"I know. I've taken care of it. It won't happen again."

"It'd better not," Harry grumbled before gulping the rest of his third glass.

"You can confide in me, Harry," Kingsley said, refilling the glass yet again. "I want you to know that. I knew you before I became Minister and I don't want politics to change our relationship. You can trust me with anything, come to me with any problem. I'm always willing to help."

"Thanks," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry I snapped at you before."

"I understand. We don't have to talk about your private life. I just thought it was fair that you know that _I_ know. And that the Aurors know."

Harry nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. "Just – just please don't tell anyone else. Especially not Mr. Weasley. Or Mrs. Weasley. Or any of the Weasleys."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "They don't know?"

Harry shook his head. "No. No one... no one's _supposed_ to know. Everyone that does... sort of found out by accident."

"Harry," Kingsley said slowly. "You know it's... perfectly normal? And healthy?"

Harry blushed again. "I know. I'm not ashamed. I just – I don't want it getting out, you know? The last thing I need right now is more bad press."

"What makes you think it would be bad?"

Harry scoffed. "You honestly think the Aurors are the only 'uncultured' people out there?"

Kingsley conceded this point with a shrug. "No. But I do know you're not the first gay wizard and I know you won't be the last."

"I'm the first I've heard of. Well, and Yasha. One per country, do you think?" he asked, smiling slightly.

Kingsley frowned in response. "I don't suppose anyone ever told you about Albus?"

Harry blinked. "Al – Albus? _Dumbledore_?"

Kingsley nodded. "Yes, Albus Dumbledore."

"Well... what about him?" Harry prompted when Kingsley stopped talking.

"He was gay, Harry. And proudly so."

Harry's mouth dropped open and he stared stupidly across the table. "But – but why didn't he ever say anything?"

Kingsley smirked. "Harry. Did he ever share personal information with you? With any of his students?"

"Well – no, but–"

"He was a private man, like yourself, but people knew. He didn't hide it. From his students, perhaps, to be professional. But his friends, most of the people at the Ministry who'd come in contact with him... he wasn't exactly, er... subtle."

Harry leaned back in his chair, trying to take in this information. "But – it..." Harry took another drink of water for something to do, even though his bladder was achingly full. "I don't even know what to say at this point," he admitted. "Thanks for telling me, I guess."

"It seemed like something you should know. He... he would have wanted you to know and I'm sure he would have told you himself if he'd lived long enough to see you leave Hogwarts. Work and professionalism always came first for Albus. Maybe that explains why he never settled down with anybody."

Harry nodded vaguely, still in shock.

Kingsley looked at his watch. "I need to go. Are you feeling any better? Your hands have stopped shaking."

"Yeah." Harry stood to walk Kingsley to the door. "My head hurts a bit, but at least my stomach's calmed down. Sorry you had to see that, by the way..."

"It's not the first time I've helped nurse a hangover." He held out his hand for Harry to shake. "I meant what I said about being your friend as well as your Minister. Anything you need, anything at all. You know where to find me."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Kingsley. I am sorry I've been so difficult lately–"

"It's no problem at all. I wouldn't expect anything less from you right now. I left your presents on the coffee table."

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the large pile of boxes and envelopes. When he turned back to say goodbye to Kingsley, he found the Minister had already gone. Smiling, Harry went to relieve himself before digging into his presents.

 

 

 

 

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon opening his presents, many of which were from people he barely knew who wanted to send him a token of thanks for killing Voldemort,. He also made a shopping list and decided that next time he was out, he was going to buy enough food to properly stock his kitchen. He was even thinking about investing in a cookbook. The Dursleys had made him cook plenty of meals for them while he lived on Privet Drive. He never let on, but he quite enjoyed making food. It was something to do with his hands and there was instant gratification for his labour. He also knew he wasn't going to be paid very highly during the next three years, and he thought it might be cheaper to make his own dinner instead of eating out all the time. He didn't want to live off his parents' and Sirius' gold if he didn't have to; he knew he was capable of supporting and taking of himself on his own.

Not that he wanted to eat dinner that night; his head was feeling perfectly fine, but his appetite had never shown up.

Just before nine o'clock, Harry set out on the fifteen minute walk to Yasha and Ilya's flat. A young man came up next to him on the pavement one block away from his flat.

"Where are you going?" the man asked quietly.

"Excuse me?" Harry demanded, stopping and turning to stare at the nosy stranger. "Do I know you?"

"I'm an Auror," the man explained apologetically. "I've only just been assigned to you."

Harry wasn't sure if he should believe this or not. "No one's ever asked where I'm going before," he said slowly. "Generally, I'm just followed."

"New rules," the man explained, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his Auror badge. "I'm Winston."

Harry blinked and shook the man's hand. None of his Aurors had ever introduced themselves to him before.

"Would you mind telling me where you're going, sir?" Winston asked again, smiling politely.

"Oh, er, well, I'm just going to a friend's place. I'm... staying the night there, I think." He tried to keep his tone casual, but he could feel his ears burning.

Winston nodded, tucked his Auror badge away, and motioned Harry to continue walking. "Have a good night, then," he said nicely.

Harry, slightly confused by the exchange, turned and headed off again. He looked behind him a few minutes later and saw Winston casually trailing him and talking into a mobile phone.

When Harry turned the last corner, he saw Yasha standing on the pavement and talking to someone. He approached them cautiously, checking his watch and wondering if he had remembered wrong about Yasha telling him to come at nine.

Yasha looked up at Harry, grinned, and motioned him to join in the conversation.

"Harry, hello! This is Lena, I work with her at the Ministry. She lives across the street."

Lena shook Harry's hand. "Goodness, Harry Potter," she said in a slight German accent. "It is wonderful to meet you. You are joining the Ministry soon, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Harry said awkwardly. "I'm – well, I start with the Aurors next month."

"Excellent." Lena grinned at him. "You'll be very good there. My brother is an Auror. I know he's very excited about the new group."

Harry smiled graciously and wondered what kind of Auror Lena's brother was – the annoying kind he was dealing with recently, or the kind more like Winston. He had a feeling Kingsley had stepped in to assign a non-pig-headed Auror to Harry's security detail, as an attempt to prove that such Aurors did exist.

"Lena, thank you for walking with me," Yasha said, shaking her hand. "Harry, do you want to come upstairs?"

Harry nodded and followed Yasha into his building, trying to ignore Lena's inquisitive stares as they disappeared. He wondered if Yasha was out to her.

"Does Lena know you're gay?" he found himself asking once they were inside Yasha's apartment.

"Of course." Yasha peeled off his jacket, set down the plastic bag he had been holding, and tried to stop himself from yawning. "She is my friend and I work with her. Plus, the Ministry knows."

"The Ministry?" Harry asked blankly.

Yasha looked over at Harry from where he had started preparing tea in the kitchen. "Yes. Everyone who works at the Ministry has a profile. You don't know this? It has all my personal information. And it says I am gay. I don't need to hide it."

"Of course not," Harry muttered, wondering if Kingsley or the Aurors had seen Yasha's file and found out about them that way. His heart sank as he thought about what would happen if Arthur Weasley ever decided to investigate Harry's new friend, perhaps at the insistence of Mrs. Weasley... or Ginny... or Ron.

"Well, how was your birthday?" Yasha asked, setting two steaming teacups at the table and inviting Harry to sit with him.

"Oh – good," Harry lied, sitting down and blowing into the cup. "I went out to dinner with Hermione. How was Russia?"

"Great. My family says hello."

Harry nodded and took a sip of tea, suddenly regretting allowing Yasha to tell his family about their affair.

"They won't tell anyone," Yasha said, studying Harry's face. "My mother – she can't tell anyone I'm dating Harry Potter without telling that I'm gay. And she doesn't like to talk about it."

Harry frowned and put his cup down. "That's... a bit sad."

Yasha shrugged. "It is what she does. She doesn't care that I'm gay. But she knows other people will care. And she doesn't want to fight about it. And it's my business, anyway. So why should she tell? That's how it is in Russia. It is not as open or liberal as it is here."

Harry nodded again. "And your brother – does he do the same thing?"

"No," Yasha said, smiling. "He is younger and more accepting. My mother, she loves me and is okay with everything, but she does not talk about it with anyone, sometimes even me. But Lyosha, and his wife, too, they are even better. But I asked them not to tell and they won't."

"They sound nice," Harry said softly before taking a long drink from his cup.

"They are. Do you want your present now?"

Harry choked slightly on his tea. "Wh-what? You didn't h-have to g-get me any-thing," he said through a coughing fit.

"But I wanted to," Yasha said, grinning and summoning the plastic bag he had dropped by the door. "It's not much, it's just a sort of cookie I want you to try."

Harry watched curiously as Yasha pulled out a red box with gold writing on it. He passed it to Harry, who ripped the plastic off, opened the lid, and found himself staring at a rectangular sort of cake also wrapped in plastic.

"It's gingerbread," Yasha explained, tearing the plastic with his fingers and pulling the strange food out of it. "With honey stuffing."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Sounds interesting."

"Do you want to eat a piece now?"

Harry's stomach grumbled and he remembered he hadn't eaten anything all day. "Sure."

Yasha grinned and stood to get a knife and two small plates. He cut two small pieces from one corner, set them on the plates, then sat back down across from Harry.

"Go on," he said excitedly, and Harry smiled, remembering how he had watched Harry eating the borsch.

Harry picked up the cookie and took a bite. It was odd and definitely like nothing he had eaten before, but it was delicious all the same.

"It's good," he said, swallowing. "It's really good. What's it called?"

"A pryanik." Yasha finished his piece in one bite.

"Er – right." Harry ate the rest of his, then finished off his tea. "Well, thank you. That was really nice of you."

Yasha shrugged and put the lid back on the box. "It's no problem. I bought some for me and Ilya, too. He loves them."

"Where is he?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing Yasha's flatmate wasn't there.

Yasha gathered the dishes to put them in the sink and Harry noticed him blushing slightly. "He's not here tonight. I... I asked him not to be here. I hope that is okay?"

Harry felt his own cheeks growing hot, but grinned anyway. "Of course it's okay," he said quietly, staring as Yasha turned on the tap and washed the dishes by hand. "He didn't mind?"

"No. He's at his friend's flat. He likes her a lot but is too shy to tell her. Maybe it will happen tonight."

Still grinning, Harry stood and moved behind Yasha, wrapping his arms around Yasha's middle. He kissed Yasha's neck as Yasha started placing the clean dishes on a towel next to the sink.

"Are you too tired?" Harry asked softly, his hands sliding into the front pockets of Yasha's trousers.

"Of course not." Yasha leaned back into Harry's embrace as he finished setting up the dishes on the towel. Smiling widely, he turned around a few seconds later and kissed Harry hard on the lips. Harry pressed Yasha into the counter, his fingers slipping under Yasha's shirt and digging into the skin they found there.

"I want you," Yasha murmured against Harry's lips when the broke apart for air.

"I want you, too," Harry said throatily, leaning back slightly to tear off Yasha's shirt.

"No," Yasha whispered, sliding his hands under Harry's shirt and pulling slightly on Harry's nipples. "I _want_ you. I want to have sex with you."

Harry's eyes widened in shock and pain as Yasha twisted his nipples roughly. He said nothing as Yasha pulled off his shirt and ducked down to kiss around his chest. It was getting more and more difficult for him to think clearly as Yasha's hands went to his trousers and started undoing them.

"All right," Harry gasped, his hips jerking slightly as Yasha began pulling on his cock.

Yasha groaned and grabbed Harry by the arse before walking him, backwards, out of the kitchen and toward the sofa. "Your arse is perfect for it," he said lowly against Harry's cheek.

"Perfect for what," Harry asked, laughing and trying not to fall over as he was pushed through the flat.

"For sex," Yasha said, smiling. He shoved Harry down onto the couch and sat on Harry's legs, his hand resuming its place on Harry's needy cock.

"Wait!" Harry scrambled quickly out from under Yasha, pulling his pants up and pressing himself into the corner of the couch. " _What_?"

Yasha stared across the couch, frowning at having been pushed off Harry so rudely. "What?"

"My arse is perfect for sex?" Harry asked, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He swallowed thickly, trying to stay calm as he felt his body completely tense up.

"Well... yes!" Yasha nodded, oblivious to Harry's panic. "It's so round and firm and–"

"No." Harry stood and pulled up his trousers, fastening them quickly. "I can't do that."

"Can't – Harry!" Yasha stood up and stepped in front of Harry, preventing him from heading for the door. "What's wrong? What can't you do?"

"I can't let you fuck me," Harry said angrily. He tried to move around Yasha, but Yasha continued cutting him off. "Will you get out of my way?"

"No, sit down." When Harry showed no sign of returning to the couch, Yasha grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him back down. "Why are you trying to leave?" he asked.

Harry looked up at Yasha with a dark expression. "I don't want you to do that," he practically growled through his clenched teeth.

"Fine. So I won't do it. So what?" Yasha sat back down. "Why did you say 'all right' if you didn't want it?"

Harry shook his head as he breathed deeply, self-control slowly coming back to him and making him feel extremely embarrassed. "I thought... I thought you meant _I_ would... be the one. To do that."

"You... want to fuck me?" Yasha asked.

Harry had to smile at how absurd the question sounded, especially in Yasha's accent. "I – I guess. I don't know. I just don't... maybe we should call it a night. I'll go home–"

"No," Yasha said, putting a hand on Harry's leg to keep him on the couch. "Don't go. We need to talk, Harry. Don't you remember what I said the first time? If we don't talk, then things will go very badly. I don't want you to be upset. We won't have sex, so will you stay? I only want to talk."

Harry nodded and sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry for freaking out. I wasn't – I was caught off guard and my first instinct was to just get the hell out of here."

"Why did you freak out?"

"I just _really_ don't want to do that. I'm not comfortable with it at all," he admitted, trying hard not to remember all the countless fantasies he'd had about Ron fucking him. He didn't know why the idea of Yasha doing it instead was so terrifying, but he did know he didn't want to think on it.

"But you are comfortable doing it to me?"

Harry shrugged with one shoulder. He didn't feel remotely turned-on anymore and even if he had wanted to fuck Yasha, which he wasn't entirely sure about anymore, he definitely didn't want to do it right then.

"Maybe," he said quietly. "If you're – are _you_ comfortable with it?"

Yasha wrinkled up his nose slightly. "It's not my favorite way to have sex."

Harry nodded, more than a little relieved. "Well, then maybe we shouldn't have sex right now. Since neither of us want..."

"To be on the bottom," Yasha supplied helpfully.

"Yeah. Since neither of us want that, then we shouldn't do it now, anyway. We can just go to bed. I know you're tired from the Portkey–"

"I'm not _that_ tired," Yasha said, sliding his hand up Harry's thigh to press against Harry's soft cock. "There are other things we can do. I still haven't given you a blowjob yet... even though you gave me one."

Harry smiled as his cock twitched hopefully, amazed at how easily Yasha could make him horny again. "That sounds perfect."

Yasha grinned and began to undo Harry's trousers as he moved to the floor in front of the sofa, licking his lips.

 

 

 

 

When Harry left Yasha's flat the next afternoon, after a long morning spent eating every sweet Yasha could find in the kitchen, a man approached him on the pavement.

"You've a note, sir" the man said in a thick Irish accent.

Harry tried to ignore the man, but he followed and thrust a tiny scroll at Harry.

"From the Ministry," he explained, gruffly.

Harry frowned, tucked the pryanik box under one arm, and took the scroll. "Are you another Auror, then?" he asked, unrolling it.

"Yeah. Most of the guard's been switched. At the Minister's request."

Harry nodded vaguely and read the note.

_Harry,_  
Would you like to meet for dinner? I'm in London for the day.  
I could stop by your flat, or we could go out somewhere.  
Let me know,  
Hermione 

Harry looked up at the Auror. "Can I write back?"

The Auror took a pen out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Harry. Harry turned the paper over and scribbled, "Come over anytime tonight," on the back. He handed it back to the Auror, who folded it and stuck it back in his pocket, along with the pen.

"I'll take it back to the Ministry when my shift's done. She's there."

"Why's the guard been changed?"

The man shrugged, though Harry could tell it was only for show. "It's what the Minister wanted, sir."

Harry looked at the man for a moment, then grinned. "You went to Hogwarts."

"I did," the man admitted, motioning for Harry to start walking.

"You were the Ravenclaw Seeker my first year," Harry said, still staring at the man who was walking beside him. "What's your name again?"

"Michael. Look, I'm really not supposed to be talking to you this much."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, I've got to be keeping a look out. I can't be distracted."

"Oh. Right." Harry waved an awkward goodbye and sped up, disappointed he couldn't chat to his former schoolmate about their Quidditch days. When he reached his building, he paused and looked behind him to see Michael talking to another man Harry didn't recognize. Michael was holding out Harry's note and explaining something to the other man, who Harry assumed was the Auror taking the next shift. They kissed briefly on the lips and then Michael turned away and started walking back the way he had come. The remaining Auror turned toward Harry's apartment, noticed Harry staring at him, and smiled shyly.

Harry returned the smile awkwardly and then dashed inside. He moved quickly through the building to his flat, wondering if Kingsley had purposely replaced all the old homophobic Aurors with young gay ones. He wondered if Winston had been gay. Or maybe Winston had just been friendly. There couldn't possibly be that many gay Aurors. There couldn't possibly be that many gay _wizards_.

Once he had showered and changed, Harry grabbed the shopping list he had made the previous day and set out again to buy something to make for Hermione for dinner.

 

 

 

 

"I saw you out the window," Harry explained as he opened the door to his flat before Hermione had even knocked. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Hermione said, stepping inside and setting her purse down on the floor. "I've just been at the Ministry all day to arrange going back to Hogwarts."

Harry closed the door and turned to stare at her. "I thought you'd done that already?"

"I told McGonagall I was coming back, but I had to confirm it with the Ministry, since they're working pretty heavily with Hogwarts at the moment. They've still got a bit of re-building to do, and they're still looking for a few more teachers."

Harry frowned. "The Ministry is hiring the teachers again?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "I know they're involved... but it's in a good way, this time."

Harry decided to drop the subject before they began fighting about it. "Would you like some dinner? I'm making spaghetti."

"Sure," Hermione said, smiling pleasantly. "Can I help?"

"There's not much to do... I started boiling the noodles when I saw you coming, so we just have to wait. Have a seat. Do you want something to drink?"

"Just water." Hermione sat down at the table and took the glass Harry offered her. "I didn't know you cook."

Harry sat down across from her with his own glass of water. "I had to do it for my aunt and uncle a lot when I was younger. I can't make anything too fancy, but I know enough to get by."

Hermione nodded and looked over at the pot on the stove. "I was thinking..."

"Yes?" Harry prompted when she trailed off awkwardly.

"I was thinking about suggesting... that you maybe look into counseling." She spoke with her eyes firmly on the steaming pot, one of her hands gripping her glass of water tightly.

"Counseling?" Harry asked blankly. "For what?"

"For... for everything," she said quietly, turning her gaze to him. "I think it might be helpful. You don't seem to be coping too well..."

"Coping too well with what?" Harry demanded.

"With anything. We all went through a lot in the last year, Harry. It's okay to be broken up about it... you lost a lot of people you loved."

"Don't," Harry said quickly. He didn't want to think about it. He had been spending every minute of his summer _not_ thinking about it.

"And I don't think you ever recovered properly from Dumbledore's passing," she continued, ignoring his harsh glare.

"Hermione–"

"Or Sirius'."

Harry pursed his lips and stood to stir the noodles. He said nothing as he pulled out plates and piled food onto them, covering the spaghetti with a thick tomato sauce he had heated up.

He set one of the plates in front of Hermione and then resumed his seat, digging into his dinner immediately and refusing to meet Hermione's gaze.

"You're kind of proving my point," she said gently after a few minutes. "It's okay to be hurt. It's okay to feel helpless. But you don't _have_ to. You can get help. You _should_ get help. Kingsley gave me the names of some local practices–"

"You talked to Kingsley about this?" Harry asked lowly, still staring down at his plate.

"Yes. He agreed with me that you would benefit from some professional help. And he – well, I'm not actually supposed to tell you this, but he said if I couldn't convince you to do it, then he would require it as part of your Auror training."

Harry slammed his fork down and glared menacingly up at Hermione. "Thanks a lot."

"I'm not going to apologize," she said firmly. "We've all got your best interests at heart. We're just trying to help."

"Leaving me alone would bloody help," Harry muttered, picking his fork back up. "I'm not crazy. I'm just pissed off."

"No one's saying you're crazy, Harry," Hermione said gently. "Counseling isn't for crazy people. It's just for people who need a bit of help. I know you're pissed off, and maybe you like being that way, but it isn't healthy. And if you had someone to talk to... maybe you wouldn't be so angry all the time."

"I have people to talk to," Harry insisted. "I've got you. I've got Yasha. I've got – er... Kingsley."

Hermione smiled sadly. "But you don't have Ron."

"What's _he_ got to do with it?" Harry snarled.

"If you had him to talk to, you probably wouldn't be this angry. You'd probably accept my offer of finding you help. You'd probably allow me to talk about Remus and Tonks."

"Hermione," Harry warned, glaring up at her through his fringe. " _Don't_."

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. You can't just go on pretending like nothing happened. You're hurt and upset and, quite honestly, probably more than a little bit traumatized by everything you've been through in the past few years. Asking for help doesn't make you crazy. It makes you strong. It means you want to move on and have a better, happier future."

Harry leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "If I say I'll think about it, will you stop talking about it?"

"Yes. But you should remember what Kingsley said about it."

"I heard it." He took a sip of water and cleared his throat. "How's the spaghetti?"

"Really good."

Harry nodded and took another bite, trying but failing not to focus on what Hermione had just said. "I don't think I need help," he said, frowning. "I just need more time. And I need to get out more. I'll be fine once training starts."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe so. Maybe I'm wrong. But Kingsley wants you to do it... and it can't hurt to try. Worst case scenario is that it's pointless and you stop going. Best case scenario is that it's helpful and makes your life a little easier. Where's the harm in that?"

"I guess." He pushed the remaining noodles on his plate around with the fork, trying to decide if he was still hungry. "Do you want to go see a movie or something?"

"I can't. I have to get back to my parents' tonight."

Harry nodded and put his fork down, his appetite gone. "Okay."

"You should try to get in touch with Ron," she suggested. "He's just as lonely and bored as you are."

"No," Harry said flatly.

"You could at least try–"

"I said no. I'm not going to crawl back to him. He's the one that stormed out. It's up to him."

"You're bigger than that, Harry. This is fourth year all over again. If you just talked to him–"

"I said no."

Hermione sighed heavily. "Fine." She pushed her chair back and stood. "I have to get going."

Harry looked up and watched as she moved toward the door and picked up her purse. "Thanks for coming over," he said dully.

Hermione pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and put it on the table. "I think you're struggling with depression and anxiety," she said calmly. "And I hate seeing you this way. I'll let you know next time I'm in London. Thank you for dinner."

She left without another word from either of them. Harry picked up the paper and saw the list of therapists for witches and wizards Kingsley had given her. He sighed, set it back down, and began to clean up the dishes.

 

 

 

 

By the end of the week, Harry had interviewed at every single therapist on the list Hermione had given him. It was an emotionally draining process, but he did finally decide to set up an appointment with the second man he had seen, a middle-aged wizard called Robert Roberts who had been at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry was not looking forward to the appointment. He was not looking forward to anything. The entire week had left him feeling overwhelmingly anti-social. He had a strong urge to never leave his flat again, and to never let anyone in to visit. His new Aurors had been passing him notes from Hermione and Yasha every day; apparently Kingsley had cleared their names with the department so Harry could get their letters faster. He hadn't written back to either of them, even when Yasha invited him over for dinner on Friday night.

Friday afternoon found Harry sprawled on out on his sofa, a book lying open on his chest. His eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, however. He had lost interest in the book over an hour ago, but had yet to move from the sofa, or even close the book.

He was idly wondering how long he could stay where he was before he would have to use the loo when there was a knock on the door.

"Fuck off," Harry called out, not caring at all who might be out in the hallway. There wasn't a single person he wanted to see right then.

"Harry?"

Harry groaned and covered his face with the book. It was Yasha.

"Harry?" Yasha knocked again.

Harry flung the book onto the floor, stood up slowly, and went to open the door.

Yasha smiled uneasily as Harry let him in. "Did you say to fuck off?"

"Yeah, sorry," Harry mumbled, closing the door. "I didn't know it was you."

"Are you expecting someone else?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I sent you an owl yesterday, but I don't know how long it takes the Ministry to screen your mail, so I wanted to come over and see how you are doing. I haven't seen you since Monday."

Harry nodded and motioned Yasha to sit on the sofa. "I got your note," he admitted, sitting down as far away from Yasha as he could manage. "I forgot to write back."

"You have been busy?"

Harry nodded again. "Yeah. I've been... out a lot this week."

"Your Aurors were a lot nicer to me today," Yasha said awkwardly, trying to get Harry to engage in any sort of conversation with him.

"Yeah, they've been better lately," Harry agreed. "I'm sorry I'm not much in the mood for entertaining right now..."

"That's okay." Yasha leaned down and grabbed the book off the floor. "You are reading?"

"I was, yeah. Kind of gave up on it..."

"Are you feeling all right?" Yasha asked, setting the book on the coffee table and turning to face Harry.

Harry shrugged, avoiding Yasha's concerned gaze. "I'm fine. I'm just tired, I guess."

"What have you been doing all week?"

Harry scratched the back of his neck, trying to think up something plausible. "I've been interviewing with therapists," he finally said, sighing. "Kingsley said I needed to..."

"Oh." Yasha smiled encouragingly when Harry glanced up at him. "Do you want to come over for dinner?"

Harry frowned slightly. "You – er – you don't think it's weird?"

"What's weird?"

"That I... need therapy?"

Yasha shook his head, still smiling kindly. "No, of course not. You have seen a lot. I will need therapy, too, if I am doing what you did."

Harry smiled slightly and turned to face Yasha properly. "You think it's normal?"

Yasha shrugged off the question. "Yes."

"Oh. Well... in that case, I don't much fancy leaving, but you could stay for dinner if you like. We could order something. Chinese?"

Yasha nodded. "The place around the corner? I can pick up food there."

"Sure." Harry stood up. "Just let me get dressed and I'll go with–"

"No, no." Yasha stood up and pushed Harry back onto the sofa. "You sit. Tell me your order and I will go and ask for food and wait for it. You don't have to leave."

"It's no bother," Harry said, feeling a little foolish.

"I insist." Yasha grinned down at him.

 

 

 

 

Harry woke up the next morning with Yasha curled up at his side, snoring quietly. He shifted, pulling his arm out from under Yasha's neck, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Yasha rolled away from him and mumbled something into the pillow.

Smiling, Harry slid across the bed and pressed his chest into Yasha's back. He wrapped an arm around Yasha's middle and kissed the bare neck in front of him.

"Morning," Harry whispered.

"Muhnuh," Yasha grumbled without opening his eyes.

Harry chuckled and placed another kiss on Yasha's neck before climbing out of bed. He pulled on his pants and went out to the kitchen to make tea. The kettle was on the edge of the counter, next to his key. And next to his key was nothing.

"What..." Harry stared sleepily at the spot where Ron's spare key had been sitting for the past week and a half. He looked around, checking the floor and under the kettle, but the key was gone.

He set the kettle back down and went back to his room to find a naked Yasha sitting on the edge of the bed and yawning.

"Why're you up so early?" Yasha complained, looking up at Harry.

"It's ten o'clock," Harry said, smiling slightly at Yasha's bleary face.

"We didn't go to sleep until four," Yasha reminded him, standing up and stretching.

Harry watched Yasha's muscles from the doorway, momentarily distracted from the mystery of the missing key.

"I'm not complaining, though" Yasha said, sounding more awake and walking over to kiss Harry. "That last blowjob..."

Harry grinned and reached around to squeeze Yasha's naked arse. "Did you take the spare key?"

Yasha blinked stupidly at Harry. "What?"

"The spare key," Harry explained as Yasha moved away to get dressed. "I keep it on the counter. Did you move it?"

"No," Yasha said through another yawn as he pulled on his trousers. "I didn't know you have a spare key."

"It was Ron's," Harry said quietly. "He left it here, remember?"

"Oh, that key." Yasha slipped his shirt on over his head and turned back to Harry. "I didn't touch it, sorry."

Harry sighed and started to put on some clean clothes. "I need to go chat with the Aurors," he said when he was clothed. "You can make tea if you like."

"Are you coming back?" Yasha asked, following Harry out of the bedroom.

"Yeah, of course. I just need to ask them if anyone tried to get in this morning. I'll be right back." He kissed a confused Yasha on the cheek before dashing out the door and down to the street.

He looked around for a few moments, trying to spot anyone who looked familiar. Finally, he saw the Auror that the Ravenclaw Seeker, Michael, had kissed earlier that week. He hadn't seen this Auror around his flat since that kiss, but he didn't see any other likely people.

"Excuse me," Harry said, walking up to the blond man and tapping him on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

The man turned around and smiled politely at Harry. "Can I help you?"

Harry paused for a moment, trying to place the man's accent. "Er – yeah. Look, one of my keys is missing. Did you come into my flat this morning and take it?"

The man shook his head quickly. "No, no. I let in Ron Weasley this morning. He said it was an emergency and he said he thought you were ignoring him. I went up with him and let him in the flat."

Harry stared, open-mouthed, at the Auror, his stomach plummeting unpleasantly. "You let Ron in?"

"Yes, sir" the Auror said, looking a little ashamed. "He said it was an emergency."

"But he didn't bother waking me up?"

The blond man shook his head again. "No. No, he saw you sleeping and decided to leave. He said he would come back later. And then he took the key. He said he came by to pick it up."

Harry let out the breath he had been holding and was slightly mortified to hear it come out as a whimper. "He... he saw me sleeping?" he asked, hoping pointlessly his voice didn't sound as devastated out loud as it did in his head.

"Yes, he opened your bedroom door and saw you sleeping. Then he left. With the key."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, fighting the desperate urge he had to cry. "Since when are you allowed to let people into my flat without my permission?"

"He said it was an emergency," the Auror said apologetically. "And he's on the list, sir."

"What list?" Harry demanded.

"The list of people who are allowed in without question. It is small. It is Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Yakov Dmitriev, Molly Weasley, and the Minister, of course."

"Of course," Harry muttered. "Well, look, don't do it again. Especially not when I've got company."

The Auror nodded without saying anything.

"Are you from Germany, by any chance?" Harry asked suddenly.

"I – I am. Why do you ask?"

"I think I met your sister the other day. Lena? She said her brother was an Auror."

The man smiled. "You've met Lena? Yes, she is my sister. I live with her, near Yasha."

Harry nodded. "And Michael?"

To Harry's surprise, the Auror blushed. "You weren't supposed to see that," he admitted. "It is unprofessional. Please, sir... if you don't need to, please don't tell anyone you saw. We are not supposed to... when we're on duty..." He trailed off, looking pleadingly at Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I've got no reason to tell. What's your name?"

"I'm Karl," he said, holding out his hand. "And I'm sorry about this morning. When he said it was an emergency, I believed him. I think he was lying."

Harry shrugged again, too numb to respond properly. He dropped Karl's hand and went back inside without another word.

Ron had seen him in bed with Yasha.

 

 

 

 

A few hours later, after he had finally gotten rid of Yasha by saying he had an early dinner date with Hermione, Harry found himself standing just off the Weasleys' property, Winston at his side.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, unable to take his eyes off the Burrow.

"I can wait here," Winston said. "I can disillusion myself if I need to."

"No one else lives around here," Harry said flatly. "Not for miles."

Winston shrugged. "I'll wait here all the same." When Harry said nothing and continued to stand there, staring at the Burrow, Winston asked, "Aren't you going in, sir?"

"I guess," Harry whispered, slowly taking one step. "I'll... be out later, then," he muttered before forcing himself to walk up to the Burrow and knock.

George opened the door and stared blankly at Harry. "It's you," he said. "What're you doing here?"

"Er," Harry swallowed dryly, uncomfortable under George's cold gaze. "I came to see Ron?"

"He's de-gnoming." George stepped aside to let Harry into the house. "You remember the way to the garden?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly as he walked quickly away from George. He went out the back door and found Ron flinging gnomes off the property with an unchecked fury. He cleared his throat quietly, not wanting to startle such an obviously angry Ron.

Ron glanced over his shoulder, dropped the gnome he had just grabbed, and turned to face Harry, crossing his arms. "What do you want?"

"You came by this morning?" Harry asked.

"I did. What of it?"

"You – the Auror said... it was an emergency."

"I lied," Ron said flatly. "Your Aurors are gullible. They'd let anyone in if it seemed urgent enough."

"They wouldn't," Harry said quietly. "You're on some list. You're allowed in without question... though usually with my permission. Generally, people knock."

"I did knock. You didn't answer. I thought you were ignoring me."

"I was asleep."

"I saw."

Harry looked down at the grass, unable to take Ron's dark stare. "About that..."

"About _that_ ," Ron said sarcastically, uncrossing his arms and bending over to snatch up a gnome. He began swinging it violently around by its ankles. "About the fact that you're bloody sleeping with a bloody bloke from bloody Durmstrang." He let go of the gnome with a shout and watched it sail through the air. "Well?" he demanded, rounding on Harry. "What about it, then?"

"Do you – can we talk inside?" Harry suggested, not wanting any of the other Weasleys, particularly Ginny, to overhear their conversation through an open window.

"No, we can't. We can talk here. And you can tell me why the _hell_ you never told me about this before."

"I didn't know how," Harry said quickly. "I thought you'd be upset."

"I am upset!" Ron yelled, throwing his arms up. "You've been lying to me – to my family – to everyone you know! You never wanted my sister!"

"It's not like that," Harry pleaded. "I didn't know what I wanted."

"And now you do."

"I – yeah, I... I guess I do."

"You want that cocksucker from Durmstrang."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Ron. Durmstrang is _not_ the enemy. Just because Hermione snogged Krum–"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT HERMIONE!" Ron roared, causing Harry to jump back. "THIS IS ABOUT YOU!"

"Ron–"

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Ron demanded. He started walking toward Harry, who backed away, heading for the shed.

"I tried!" Harry insisted, walking backwards and trying not to trip over the gnomes gathering to watch the scene. "I've been trying to tell you for years. Every time I dropped a hint, you'd make some homophobic remark!"

"I'm not homophobic," Ron snarled. "How long have you been sleeping with Yasha?"

Harry pulled out his wand, just in case. "We're not – well – I mean... only a – a few weeks."

"Since you met him."

"More or less."

"And Ginny?"

Harry's back hit the side of the shed. He held his wand out, pointing it at Ron. "I told you – I told her – it was a mistake. A really terrible mistake, yes. An unforgivable mistake, even... Ron?"

Ron had walked right up to Harry and was standing directly in front of him. He reached out and braced his hands on either side of Harry, trapping the smaller man against the shed and making sure there was no room to escape.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/kath_ballantyne/pic/0018x6gz/)

"You should have told me," Ron said, his voice much softer now. "You've been lying to me for years."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, his wand tip poking into Ron's chest. "I tried. I thought you would hate me."

"You were wrong."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, staring at the veins in Ron's neck.

Silence fell between them and Harry noticed they were both panting heavily. He could feel the heat coming off Ron's body and he realized he had nowhere to go. They were standing too close together. He shifted slightly as an attempt to break out of Ron's trap and felt his thigh brush against Ron's wand.

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet Ron's. Ron had never, ever kept his wand in his front pocket...

"Ron?" Harry asked in a small, strangled voice. He could hardly hear himself over the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

Ron stepped away, looking angrier than he had all afternoon. "Get out," he growled.

" _Ron_ ," Harry said desperately, still leaning against the shed. "I – _you_ –"

"GET OUT!" Ron bellowed, thrusting his arm out and pointing at where Winston was standing in the distance. "Go the _fuck_ home, Harry."

"No," Harry said firmly. He took a step toward Ron. Ron pulled his wand out of his back pocket. "I came to talk. We have to _talk_."

"I will hurt you," Ron stated, pointing his wand at Harry's head.

Harry took a step forward, Ron flicked his wand, and Harry was hoisted upside down by one of his ankles. He hung stupidly in the air, his shirt falling down to his chin.

"Ron!" Harry called as he watched Ron retreat into the Burrow. "RON! LET ME DOWN!"

He continued to hang over the garden as Winston ran over. Harry told him the spell and then fell hard to the ground a moment later.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, sitting up and holding his shoulder. "Next time warn me."

"Sorry, sir" Winston said, holding out his hand and helping Harry up.

Harry glanced up at the Burrow and saw Ron with his head sticking out of the top window.

"Don't ever fucking come back here, Harry," Ron warned before ducking his head inside and slamming the window shut.

Harry walked as quickly as he could off the property, ignoring Winston's concerned questions, and Disapparated back to his flat.

 

 

 

 

Harry sat cross-legged on his sofa later that night, cradling a beer bottle in his lap and staring mournfully at the coffee table. He had been replaying the afternoon's events over and over in his head for hours, trying to make sense of them. Ron must have wanted Harry to know he'd seen Yasha in Harry's bed, otherwise he wouldn't have taken the key. But why had he come over in the first place? And why in the world had he been hard when he was pressing Harry against the shed?

A familiar shiver ran down Harry's spine as he thought about Ron's erection for the millionth time that night. Ron had been _hard_. Harry had _felt_ it. On his thigh. He brushed a hand over that thigh and sighed shakily.

But _why_ had Ron been hard? Harry kept trying to rationalize it. Maybe Ron had just been worked up from their argument. No, that didn't make sense. Harry had been worked up, too, but he hadn't been aroused by it.

Harry flung his head back over the cushions and stared up at the ceiling. _"Don't ever fucking come back here, Harry."_ The words echoed continually in his head. His heart ached at the thought of never returning to the Burrow, of never eating another delicious meal there, of losing Ron forever. He was sure that's what he had done. He had let Ron get carried away by anger, and he hadn't fought hard enough to stay and work things out.

Ron was never going to forgive him for... for what? For letting Yasha sleep in his bed? Or for noticing Ron's erection. Or maybe even somehow _causing_ Ron's erection.

Harry took another sip of beer at this thought. "Of course I didn't cause it," he muttered to himself, holding the bottle up to see how much was left. "Couldn't have done. I didn't even do anything. And Ron's straight..."

A sharp knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Fuck off!" Harry shouted. It didn't matter who was there; he wasn't in the mood to see anyone, not even Yasha. He just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his own confusing misery.

The door opened and Harry looked up to see Ron stepping inside the flat, holding the spare key.

"Fuck. Off," Harry repeated, turning his attention back to his beer.

"No." Ron closed the door behind him and slumped against it.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked flatly. He didn't have the energy to deal with one of Ron's tantrums. He just wanted Ron to leave.

"I came to tell you George is re-opening the shop," Ron said in a tone that was far too casual and calm. "I thought maybe you'd like to help out for a few weeks. Clean things up and get it ready for business again."

Harry looked up at Ron again and studied his slightly flushed face. "You're drunk."

"Maybe," Ron conceded. "But I wanted you to know. That's why I came over this morning. I thought maybe... we could work together for a while. Try to sort things out."

Harry shrugged and drank the rest of his beer. "Could be fun. If I have time."

"What else have you got going on?"

"Therapy," Harry said bitterly. "Hermione and Kingsley reckon I need help. Apparently I've lost the ability to cope with things. Whatever that means."

Ron stood up straighter and stepped away from the door. "She said the same to me."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Maybe we really are fucked up. I certainly haven't been handling... anything the way I should lately."

"Me either," Ron said softly. "I'm sorry about earlier... about what I said. About you not ever coming back. I didn't mean it. I want you back. You know I do."

"Ron," Harry said suddenly, setting the empty beer bottle on the coffee table and standing up to face him. "Let's not do this now. Come back when you're sober. Or, better yet, when I'm sober."

"I don't like being sober," Ron continued in his soft tone. "It's too hard. It's easier to be buzzed all the time."

"That's sick."

"I know. That's why I don't do it. Even though I want to. I caved tonight." He took a step toward Harry, a pained expression on his face. "I don't want you to see Yakov anymore."

Harry's mouth dropped open slightly. "You don't really have a say in that."

"I do," Ron said, taking another step forward. "I have all the says in it."

Harry took a step back. "You're drunk," he repeated. "You need to go home."

"I can't go home." Ron was advancing on Harry again, backing Harry against the wall. "I'm too drunk."

"Then you can sleep on the sofa," Harry said nervously, holding his hands out to stop Ron from moving any closer. He gripped Ron by the shoulders. "How drunk are you?"

"Drunk enough," Ron said gently, peeling Harry's hands away with little effort.

"Drunk enough for what?" Harry asked, his heart pounding. He wanted to run for it, but his feet refused to move. Ron was staring at him with wide blue eyes and the intensity of the gaze was making him lightheaded.

"Drunk enough," Ron repeated, reaching out and snaking his hand around the back of Harry's neck. Ron's fingers played with the hair on Harry's nape and he squirmed, trying not to moan as his skin erupted with goosebumps. "Drunk enough to do what I could never do sober."

"Ron," Harry whispered in one last, half-hearted attempt to stop this from happening. "We shouldn't – you're drunk – you've got a girlfr–"

Ron clamped his other hand over Harry's mouth. "Don't talk," he ordered, taking the last step forward. He pressed his hips to Harry's and grinned when he felt Harry's erection against his own. "I _know_ you want this. I can _feel_ it."

Harry shook his head desperately and tried to talk into Ron's hand, his eyes wide.

"No?" Ron asked, grinning wider. "My mistake." He pulled his hands away from Harry and took a step back, turning to walk to the door.

Harry reached out and grabbed Ron's wrist, holding him to the spot. Ron raised his eyes slowly, taking in Harry's flushed face before meeting Harry's sad gaze.

"Harry?" Ron asked, his smile fading.

Harry dropped Ron's wrist and stood up a little straighter against the wall. "How drunk are you?" he asked again.

Ron swallowed nervously, taking another step away from Harry. "Drunk enough to do what I have been wanting to do for _years_ ," he whispered. "But not drunk enough to be making a mistake."

Harry shook his head. "This couldn't be anything other than a mistake, Ron. Think about what you're doing. To yourself – to Hermione–"

Ron pinned Harry to the wall again in an instant, his palm pressing hard against Harry's open mouth. "I told you not to talk about it," he warned, anger flashing in his eyes. He rolled his hips hard against Harry's and chuckled at the moan that was muffled by his hand. "I know you want this," he said again, his voice low and breathy. "Either we do it now or I leave and walk away from it forever. It's your choice."

He stepped back again, dropping his hand, and stared expectantly at Harry.

Harry slumped against the wall, panting slightly. His skin was tingling all over, his cock was straining against his tight jeans, and his heart was aching in such a way that Harry was terrified of it. He had never felt so out of control of his emotions. He _knew_ this was wrong in every way. He knew Yasha and Hermione deserved better. He knew he and Ron should talk about a myriad of things before something happened they would both regret later.

He also knew Ron was likely to leave if he suggested talking. And he knew his heart was likely to break beyond all repair if Ron left now. It was thudding wildly in his chest, trying its damned hardest to get closer to Ron, to pull Harry forward. Ron was standing inches from him, hard, flushed, and ready.

"Harry?" Ron asked, sounding scared for the first time that night.

"Don't leave," Harry said quickly, struggling against the instinct to shove Ron onto the sofa and snog him senseless right then and there. "This – we can't–"

"We _can_ ," Ron growled, pushing Harry against the wall once more. "We _will_ ," he muttered, staring hungrily down at Harry's lips. Harry whimpered slightly when Ron grabbed his arse, pulling him closer. "And you will _stop_ talking about it." He leaned down, bringing his lips as close as possible to Harry's without touching them. Harry gasped and moved forward to kiss Ron, but Ron leaned away. "Yes or no?" he whispered.

"Yes," Harry moaned wildly, wrapping his arms around Ron and leaning forward until their noses were touching. "Please."

Ron gripped Harry's arms roughly, turned, and threw Harry onto the sofa. Harry landed with a surprised grunt and scrambled to sit up, but Ron was on top of him quickly, pressing him into the cushions and kissing him hard.

Harry's hands moved instantly to the back of Ron's head. He dug his fingers into Ron's messy hair, holding the other man's head close to his as their lips moved frantically against each other.

He couldn't say it was a particularly good kiss. It was sloppy and awkward, and there were far too many teeth. But they were drunk and it was _Ron_ , so what did it matter? The combination of lust and alcohol was fogging his mind and making every touch more intense than he felt he could handle.

Ron's mouth moved to Harry's ear and Harry's hips arched uncontrollably off the sofa as Ron's tongue teased him. His mind went blissfully blank with a powerful arousal. Ron was rutting madly against him and it was all he could do not to come in his jeans on the spot.

"Ron," Harry gasped when his stomach tightened dangerously. "Ron – bed – stop."

Ron leapt up from the sofa, pulling Harry with him, and stomped into the bedroom. Harry, sick of being manhandled, took the chance to take control of the situation and slam Ron into the bedroom wall.

"You were hard for me earlier, in the garden," Harry said roughly as he quickly undid Ron's jeans and pushed them to the ground.

"Yes," Ron hissed, his hips jerking slightly as Harry palmed his cock through his pants. "I wanted to kiss you so badly."

Harry licked his lips and Ron gulped. "Why didn't you?" Harry asked, slipping Ron's pants down his thighs and wrapping a hand around his cock.

Ron bit back a groan as Harry began stroking him. "Told you," he managed croakily. "Couldn't – sober – ah!" His knees buckled slightly as Harry's other hand moved his to his balls. "Fuck, Harry."

Harry started walking backwards, pulling Ron with him. When his shins hit the edge of his bed, he crawled onto it, sitting up by his pillows and motioning Ron to join him. Ron pulled his shirt off, got onto the bed, and started yanking off Harry's jeans and underwear. Harry grinned and took his own shirt off, dropping it on the floor and reaching out for Ron's cock again.

Ron moved out of reach, pulled forcefully on Harry's limbs until he was lying down, and bent down to lick at his aching cock.

Harry cried out as his hands flew back to Ron's hair, holding the redhead in place.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/kath_ballantyne/pic/0018w9he/)

"Ron," he sobbed, trying to control himself and gripping Ron's hair so tightly that Ron groaned. Ron was moving far too fast, his mouth was far too wet and warm. Sinfully pleasurable heat was pooling in Harry's stomach, his legs were shaking uncontrollably, and there was simply no hope for him.

" _Fuck_ – RON! Oh – a-ahhh..." Harry trembled all over as Ron sucked the orgasm out of him. He tossed his head back, his mouth stretched open in a silent scream, as his body burst into what he was sure were actual flames.

When he recovered from his climax enough to think again, Harry pulled his hands out of Ron's hair and covered his own face with them instead. He panted against his palms, trying to get his breathing back under control.

The bed shifted near his feet, but he couldn't bring himself to look. He was suddenly feeling far too sober. The buzz from the beer had gone and he was left vulnerable, naked, and sweaty. With Ron. He had _never_ come like that before, had never been driven so close to the brink of insanity that he couldn't even remember the few seconds after his orgasm.

Swallowing dryly, he realized he was still hard. He slowly dragged his hands away from his face and met a sight that made his spent cock twitch painfully. Ron was kneeling between Harry's legs, his eyes focused intently on Harry's wet erection, and stroking his own cock with reckless abandon.

Harry licked his lips and got to his own knees. He didn't care that he was sober and that Ron was likely still drunk. He didn't care that this could, and likely would, ruin literally everything. He had never seen anything sexier or more arousing than Ron wanking over him, and there was only one possible response. He wanted to touch Ron, and he wanted to touch Ron _now_.

Harry pushed Ron's hand away and replaced it with his own, imitating Ron's rhythm. He worked Ron's cock quickly, gripping it tightly and twisting his hand on every stroke. Ron grabbed Harry's head with both hands and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sliding his tongue along Ron's, Harry moved his free hand to Ron's arse, squeezing one cheek before pushing his fingers lower and rubbing light circles around Ron's hole with one fingertip.

Ron broke the kiss and gasped loudly, his body arching closer to Harry. He stared, heavy-lidded, at Harry for a moment, then smothered Harry's lips in another searing kiss. Harry took his hand from Ron's arse, but before he had time to move it to Ron's balls, his other hand was covered in a hot, sticky mess.

Ron's hands were buried in Harry's hair, his fingernails digging into Harry's scalp, as he gasped and moaned against Harry's swollen lips.

Harry continued stroking Ron's pulsing cock until Ron leaned forward, pushing Harry down on the bed and landing on top of him. Harry chuckled and wiggled out from under Ron as Ron buried his face in a pillow.

"S'brilliant," Ron said, his voice muffled.

Harry grinned and got up to look for his wand. He found it in the kitchen and went back to his room to clean up the mess on Ron's front, hoping it hadn't spread too much on the duvet. Ron, however, was already passed out. Sighing and wondering if he should bother to try to wake Ron so they could talk, Harry aimed a cleaning spell at the bed and hoped for the best. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to Ron at this point, and knew Ron was too drunk for a proper conversation anyway. It would have to wait until morning, he decided.

"If he even remembers," Harry muttered, yanking the sheets out from under Ron and getting onto the bed before covering them both. He was too tired and content from his orgasm to panic much about what had just happened. Right then, it didn't matter what would happen in the morning; all that mattered was that Ron was in Harry's bed and couldn't protest that Harry had snuggled up against him before falling asleep.

 

 

 

 

Harry woke up the next morning when a large Ministry owl wedged its way in through the few inches of the open window in the bedroom, landed on the edge of the bed, and hooted loudly. Harry jolted and sat up quickly, looking around for the source of the noise.

The owl hooted again and Harry blinked at it.

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" he asked, crawling to the edge of the bed and untying the scroll from its foot. It nipped at his pinky finger, a bit too roughly to be affectionate, and flew away.

Harry yawned and glanced back at his clock. It was nearly ten o'clock. He stifled another yawn and started to open the letter when he noticed all the clothes that were on the bedroom floor.

He sat, paralyzed with shock, as details from the previous night flooded into his head. Ron had given him a blowjob. And he had fingered at Ron's arsehole.

And, unless he had gone home naked, Ron was still in the flat.

Harry gulped and stood to pull on a clean pair of pants. He had no idea what he would meet when he stepped out of his room, but he knew he had to find Ron; he had no idea what he would say if he found Ron, but he knew they would have to talk eventually.

Ron, as Harry saw when he opened his bedroom door, was sitting at the kitchen table in a pair of boxers, staring sadly into a half-empty cup of tea. He glanced up at Harry, looking quite miserable.

Harry took a hesitant step toward the table. "How long have you been up?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleepiness.

"A while."

Harry took this to mean several hours. He moved awkwardly across the room and sat down across from Ron, who avoided meeting his gaze by taking a sip of tea.

"Um," Harry tried, but nothing else came to him.

Ron heaved a great sigh and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I owe you an apology."

"What?" Harry said, completely caught off guard by this.

"I owe you an apology," Ron repeated, still staring into his teacup. "For being so rude this summer. About everything... especially about Ginny and Yakov. I had no right."

"You – you had a right. You're my best mate. You're allowed to call me out when I'm being a bastard to you. Or to your sister."

Ron shrugged. "I guess. I'm sorry, anyway."

"Don't apologize," Harry insisted. "I deserved it."

"Deserved what?"

"Deserved you being rude to me."

Ron shrugged again and finished off his tea. "I should get back home," he said, pushing back his chair.

"No!" Harry said quickly. "You can't just... vaguely apologize for something totally irrelevant and then leave! We have to talk about last night."

"I don't have anything to say about it other than 'sorry,'" Ron said, meeting Harry's eyes for the first time. Harry was surprised to hear a tone of disappointment in his voice. "It's too late for this."

"Too late for what?"

"For this." Ron gestured between them. "It's too late. You've already got Yakov and I've got Hermione. I made a mistake by coming here last night. I shouldn't have. I didn't want to. I wasn't going to... but then I got drunk and I just... I couldn't help myself."

He sighed sadly and Harry's chest tightened painfully. Ron looked like he was about to cry.

"It's not too late," Harry found himself saying. "I'm – I mean, I'm with Yasha, but it's not... it's not that serious."

"Not that serious?" Ron asked, going from depressed to angry in a flash. "So, you're just having sex with him like some sort of... of..."

"No," Harry cut him off before he could think of an adequate insult. "What we did last night, yes. But nothing more. Not sex. Not that kind of sex, anyway."

Ron blushed slightly and looked down at his lap. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "You should be with him if he makes you happy. And I should be with Hermione."

"Does she make you happy?" Harry asked delicately.

Ron glared up at Harry. "It's not that simple and you know it. Of course she makes me happy. I've been in love with her for years, haven't I?"

"Have you?"

Ron's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Anyway," Harry tried again. "Yasha, he – it doesn't matter what you think it's too late for. It's never too late to try to be happy, mate. But, believe me when I say this, it's better to do things sooner rather than later. Don't waste time with Hermione if she's not what you want. I made that mistake with Ginny and it's not worth it. At all. People get really hurt and I don't want you to feel the way I did when I fucked things up with her."

"Ginny wasn't what you wanted," Ron said quietly, "but Yakov was?"

"No," Harry said, staring hard across the table at Ron. " _You_ were what I wanted."

Ron shook his head in bitter disbelief. "I feel like I've... I've just messed up my whole life. Hermione's going back to school without me, and you're starting Auror training without me, and I'm just stuck in this nowhere place. I've been waiting all summer for someone to tell me what to do next, and there just aren't any answers. It's all just a mess."

"My life's a mess, too, Ron. But that doesn't mean that I don't deserve to be happy."

Ron shook his head again. "I _don't_ deserve to be happy," he insisted. "I've just cheated on my girlfriend. With my best mate. And I loved every bloody second of it and I... the thought of... going back to her..."

"Don't," Harry said quickly, surprising himself. He paused and took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "Going back to someone you don't want to be with, after being with someone you _do_ want to be with... it's not even worth considering. I tried it with Ginny and it made everything a thousand times worse. You can't just pretend this didn't happen or that you didn't enjoy it."

Ron stood suddenly. "Look, I don't know where this conversation is supposed to be going, but I'm really crap at talking about my feelings. I need to go."

Harry got up and followed Ron back to the bedroom to watch him get dressed.

"You could stay," Harry suggested softly, mustering his courage and moving over to Ron to run his hands over Ron's broad chest. "We don't have to talk about your feelings." He glanced up to meet Ron's scared blue eyes. "We don't have to talk at all."

"I can't do this sober," Ron said, pushing away Harry's hands and taking a step back. "I'm not... I'm not comfortable with this. I don't know how long it is you've been this way or if you've been with other blokes besides Yakov, but this is new to me. And I'm not – and I am _so_ fucking terrified. But fooling around with you isn't going to make it better. I need time to think."

"I haven't been with anyone besides Yasha," Harry said, moving in front of Ron to block his exit. "And I know it's scary as fuck. But it's not life-or-death scary. It's not Voldemort scary. It's not–"

"Don't pretend like you have any idea what this means for me," Ron snapped. "You don't have to answer to anyone or explain yourself at all. You can just do whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want. I'm not saying this to be mean, but my family's still around. Being a queer has consequences, Harry. This isn't something I can just step into lightly because it feels good. This – this isn't the way my life is supposed to be."

"No one's life is supposed to be this way," Harry said sensibly. "Doing what feels good – what feels _right_ – isn't supposed to be so difficult."

"Well, it is." Ron pushed his way past Harry and out of the bedroom.

"Where are you going to go?" Harry asked, following Ron to the door.

"Diagon Alley," Ron said, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He looked away from Harry's concerned expression. "I'm m-moving my stuff in with George."

Harry's mouth fell open. " _What?_ "

"He asked me to move in with him."

"And you agreed? I asked you to move in with me weeks ago!"

"He's my brother, Harry," Ron said darkly. "He can't live there alone."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Ron turned and started toward the stairs.

"If I come by the shop tomorrow," Harry said, making Ron stop in his tracks, "will there be work for me to do?"

Without turning around, Ron nodded and then continued down the hallway. Harry watched him leave, wondering if he should have fought harder to make Ron stay and talk, wondering if Ron would ever risk his relationship with his family to do something that made him happy, and wondering if there was any way his own friendships with both Ron and Hermione would recover from the potential fallout of the previous night's events.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fantastic art by[kath_ballantyne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kath_ballantyne).**

By nightfall, Harry was engrossed in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ by Miranda Goshawk. He had spent the rest of his morning and most of the afternoon thoroughly cleaning his flat and himself. He'd swept up, mopped the floors, dusted, rearranged furniture, done all of his laundry, taken a shower, shaved, clipped his nails, given his hair a trim, and scrubbed his face so hard his skin was pink and tender for hours after.

Once all that was done, he'd gone to Diagon Alley. Making sure to avoid Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at all costs, Harry had headed straight for Flourish & Blotts, bought all the books he would have needed for a seventh year at Hogwarts, and returned home as quickly as possible. It felt good to be outside doing something productive, but he shuddered at the thought of running into Ron so soon after what had just happened.

He didn't know what to do with himself. His mind was buzzing, but he didn't want to think about Ron. He didn't want to think about anything other than his upcoming Auror training. And, so, in an attempt to both distract and prepare himself, he was reading this textbook more closely than he had ever read one before, including the Prince's potions book.

Some of the spells seemed surprisingly easy, while the rest of them looked dauntingly hard. Harry was too tired to try any of them out just then, but he was planning on spending the next three weeks practicing every spell he could manage.

_Being a queer has consequences, Harry._

Harry cleared his throat against the intruding memories of the morning and tried to focus on what he was reading.

_This isn't the way my life is supposed to be._

Harry turned the page roughly and continued on.

_I can't do this sober._

"Fuck it." Harry closed the book and rubbed his eyes. He was getting too tired to concentrate on such a dry text, no matter how important or even somewhat interesting it was.

He got up from the sofa and set about making himself some tea. He hadn't eaten all day, but he wasn't hungry. This probably had something to do with all the things Hermione had said were wrong with him, he thought. Maybe he would bring it up at his appointment the next day, but he didn't see how it could be a mental thing. He just wasn't hungry, so what?

When his tea was hot and ready, he sat down with a mug at his kitchen table and stared blankly out the window, wishing he had something other than a textbook to read.

"Shit," he said, suddenly remembering the Ministry scroll he had gotten that morning. Amazed he had forgotten it so easily, he retrieved the letter quickly from his room and sat back down at the table to read it.

_Harry,_  
I hope this letter finds you well. I've been informed you're going to be seeing Mr. Roberts starting tomorrow. This is excellent, Harry. You know I trust you and your judgement completely, and I want to emphasize that this has nothing to do with your ability as a wizard. The war was long and difficult for all of us, but especially you and your friends. I only hope Mr. Roberts can help relieve some of the burden I know you carry with you now. And let me say this: no deaths were your fault. Adults entering into a war risk their lives on purpose. Even Colin Creevey stayed back at Hogwarts of his own accord and died fighting for what he believed in. I know it is hard, but you mustn't blame yourself. You mustn't dwell on the past, but look to the future. Think about what you were struggling for all those months. Tom Riddle is dead and there is every opportunity for a brighter future.  
I only hope you manage to make the most of what Mr. Roberts has to offer you. I'm looking forward to the day when you join me at the Ministry and become a proper Auror. There are still great things left in your future, Harry. All you have to do is start living.  
All the very best,  
Kingsley 

Harry stared, wide-eyed, at the letter. He had never before witnessed Kingsley being so emotional. It was nice that Kingsley seemed so invested in Harry's success, but how had he found out about Mr. Roberts? Hadn't the therapist said something about confidentiality?

"Harry?"

Harry looked up from the flattened scroll. There was quiet knocking on his door.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

Silently cursing the list that allowed Yasha unquestioned access to his flat, Harry went to open the door. Yasha and Karl were in the hallway, Yasha grinning broadly and Karl frowning nervously.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," Karl said. "I'm escorting Mr. Dmitriev... I wanted to make you were all right with having company."

Harry gave Karl a tight-lipped smile, knowing he was trying to make up for his earlier blunder with Ron. "Thanks, Karl. It's fine. You can come in, Yasha." Yasha stepped in and Harry waved to Karl before closing the door.

"You are drinking tea?" Yasha asked, looking around the flat. "And you moved the sofa."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Look, I don't... I don't quite know how to say this, but–"

"But don't," Yasha interrupted, winking and moving forward to hold one of Harry's hands. "Let me go first. I am thinking – about what happened after your birthday."

Harry's mind went blank. "What?"

"What happened after your birthday," Yasha repeated in a whisper, leaning close to speak in Harry's ear. "When we try to have sex."

Harry tensed in an attempt to stop the shudder that ran through his body as Yasha's breath ghosted over his ear and down his neck.

"Um," he said nervously. He had been planning on breaking things off with Yasha, maybe even explaining about Ron, but now he found himself wanting to do this instead. How likely was it that Ron would come around to his senses anytime soon? As far as Harry could tell, Ron was going to be just as stubborn about this as he was with everything else. He might never admit how he really felt or what he really wanted. A pang of sadness went through Harry as he thought this. He needed another distraction, and being with Yasha was so easy; he didn't have to think about it, he could just do it. "What about it?"

"What you said," Yasha continued talking lowly into Harry's ear, his free hand moving around to grope Harry's arse, "about fucking me."

Harry gulped as Yasha's other hand dropped his and moved to the front of his jeans to cup his already hardening cock. He closed his eyes and damned his inability to not be immediately and completely turned on by Yasha. _I shouldn't be doing this_ , he thought as Yasha's hand undid his fly, _it's not rational_. Yasha's mouth moved to Harry's neck as his hand dipped inside Harry's briefs and wrapped around Harry's cock.

Harry bit back a whimper at Yasha's chilly hand. It stung slightly, that cold and rough skin encasing his warm erection, but the temperature difference felt amazing.

"Do you want to?" Yasha asked, dragging his lips back up to Harry's ear and licking it once.

"What?" Harry croaked.

Yasha pulled back slightly and looked into Harry's slightly unfocused eyes.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Harry's cock twitched in Yasha's hand at the thought and Yasha smirked at him. He wasn't entirely sure how his options had narrowed down to breaking up with Yasha or having sex with Yasha, but he did know which sounded more appealing. He also knew which one he _should_ do, but it wasn't the one he _wanted_ to do. Deciding, for once in his life, to do what he wanted rather than what he felt was right, Harry nodded.

Yasha beamed at him. "Wonderful."

Harry smiled and slipped his fingers into Yasha's hair, pulling the other man in for a kiss.

 

 

 

 

Harry woke up the next morning with a dull ache in his stomach that reminded him of the fact that he hadn't eaten anything the day before. It gave a loud gurgle and Harry whimpered slightly against the pain, trying to think if there was anything suitable for breakfast in his kitchen.

He rolled over when his stomach made another unpleasant sound and found himself face-to-face with a smiling Yasha.

"Hungry?"

Harry's stomach answered for him.

"Do you want to go out for breakfast at a restaurant? I will buy."

"No," Harry said quickly, sitting up. "No, I – I have to eat quickly. I have things to do today."

"Things?" Yasha asked. He pushed the sheets to the bottom of the bed and sat up next to Harry.

Harry tried not to stare at Yasha's morning wood. "Yeah, um. Well, I have an appointment. And then I... I have to go help my friend, um, set up his shop."

"Sounds boring," Yasha said, planting a wet kiss on Harry's bare shoulder.

"Maybe, but I said I'd help," Harry explained, getting out of the bed and rummaging through a dresser drawer for a clean pair of boxers. When he found them, he slipped them on and opened the bedroom door. "I'll... just go make some toast," he said before escaping into the kitchen.

"Bugger," he whispered, staring blankly into the bread box. He quickly set about making breakfast, feeling faint with hunger but unable to think about much else besides the fact that he'd just had sex with Yasha. _Really good sex with Yasha_ , he thought, then added, _really wrong and inappropriate sex with Yasha_.

"I wish you cook naked," Yasha said, startling Harry slightly. He looked over his shoulder just as Yasha stepped up behind him. Yasha wrapped his arms around Harry's middle and Harry raised an eyebrow at the erection poking into his back.

"That would be sort of unsanitary," Harry reasoned. "Toast's ready."

"But I want _you_ for breakfast," Yasha whispered against Harry's neck.

Harry squirmed slightly at the shiver running down his spine. He tried to ignore the familiar lusty feeling pooling in his groin.

"Well," he said slowly, " _I_ want toast, and since – ah!" One of Yasha's hands had slipped down into Harry's boxers and was teasing his balls with a gentle touch that had him wriggling in Yasha's grip.

"I'm hungry," Harry protested half-heartedly, grabbing Yasha's wrist to stop its movements.

"I know," Yasha said soothingly. "But toast can wait."

Harry whimpered slightly as Yasha began working his cock. He was lightheaded with arousal, all his blood was rushing to his growing erection, and he needed to eat. But scenes from the previous night were intruding on his thoughts of toast, and in no time at all, Harry had turned around and was kissing Yasha with a needy desire that surprised them both.

Harry started to push Yasha toward the sofa, but Yasha held his ground. "No," he muttered against Harry's lips, "fuck me here."

Harry pulled back slightly, his eyes wide. "What?"

"Fuck me here," Yasha said again, stepping out of Harry's arms and moving toward the counter. He leaned over it slightly, exposing his tempting arse to Harry's starving eyes.

"I... don't have my wand," Harry said, thinking again of how unsanitary this would be.

"Mine is on the table," Yasha whispered. "Give it to me."

Harry handed Yasha the wand and, a second later, felt his palm being filled with lube.

"Hurry," Yasha said, bending over more and spreading his legs. "You don't have to stretch me."

"What, are you sure?" Harry asked nervously, staring unblinkingly at Yasha's wiggling arse.

"Yes," Yasha moaned and Harry noticed he was already stroking his own cock.

Harry gulped and spread the lube over his cock before stepping up behind Yasha. Despite Yasha's orders, he began pushing the rest of the lube into Yasha with two of his fingers.

Yasha groaned and looked over his shoulder. "I said you don't have to."

"I know," Harry said, smiling as he crooked his fingers and Yasha's knees buckled slightly. "Shit, you're hot when you're this desperate."

"I'm so horny," Yasha whined as Harry removed his fingers. "And you're such a good fuck."

Harry laughed. "I thought you said this wasn't your favorite way to have sex."

"It wasn't."

Harry raised his eyebrows and said nothing, enjoying himself by making Yasha wait.

"My last boyfriend isn't good at it," Yasha explained quickly, his hand stilling and gripping the base of his cock. "You have only done it once and you are better than him already."

Harry grinned. "I'm a fast learner," he said, grabbing himself with one hand and Yasha's hip with the other.

"Yes, please," Yasha moaned, hanging his head forward.

Harry bit back a groan at Yasha's pleading and pushed himself quickly into Yasha's hot, tight hole.

Yasha exhaled roughly and let go of his cock in favor of holding onto the counter with both hands. Harry gripped Yasha's hips tightly, waiting for him to relax.

"Bozhe," Yasha muttered, lowering himself further. "Go, please," he choked out, already stroking himself again.

Harry gritted his teeth and began rocking his hips gently, trying not to go too fast or too deep. Yasha was making obscene noises and Harry was suddenly reminded exactly _why_ their sex the night before had been so good.

"Harder," Yasha barked, his hips snapping back against Harry's. "Please – please."

Harry was already close to coming. His head was swimming and Yasha felt indescribably good around his cock. He leaned over Yasha, bracing himself with one hand on the counter as he slid his other arm around Yasha's middle.

"Khorosshhh..." Yasha muttered as Harry increased his speed before licking hotly up Yasha's back. "Harry!"

Harry grunted in response, pressed his forehead against Yasha's back, and focused on not coming. His balls were painfully tight, his entire body was on edge and consumed with a need to come, but he wanted to wait for Yasha.

He didn't have to wait long, which was good because he was quickly losing all control. The hot tension in his body was already releasing and he stood back up in a pointless attempt to stop himself from coming. Yasha yelped, pushed himself up with Harry, flung a desperate arm behind him to hold on to Harry's back, and came all over the counter, moaning wildly. Harry bit roughly into Yasha's shoulder as his own orgasm finally overtook him and he came, shuddering violently and swallowing his own groans.

They stood still for a moment, arms wrapped around each other and panting. Then Yasha huffed and leaned back over the counter. Harry pulled out and took a step back, sleepily admiring Yasha's spent form. His stomach growled loudly and he closed his eyes against a sudden dizziness.

An odd coolness hit his softening cock and he opened his eyes to see Yasha smiling and aiming the wand at him.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, sitting down. He really did need to eat.

Yasha aimed another spell at the counter and his come vanished, though Harry made a note to wash the counter with soap later, thinking such a mess, especially one in the kitchen, deserved more treatment. Yasha tapped the plates of toast Harry had made with his wand and then carried them over to the table.

"I warmed them up again," he explained, sitting across from Harry and picking up a slice.

"Thanks," Harry said again, reaching gratefully for some toast and scarfing down all three of his pieces in record time.

"You are really hungry," Yasha said, staring at Harry.

"You have no idea," Harry said, grabbing a slice of toast off Yasha's plate. "What were you saying, earlier?"

"When?"

"Over there," Harry nodded toward the counter. "It sounded like you said... 'Bosie,' maybe. And then I think you said I was whorish."

Yasha frowned slightly and nibbled on his toast. "Oh," he said after a moment. "No, it was Russian. Sorry. Sometimes, when I'm... maybe desperate, I forget myself."

Harry grinned. "Don't apologise for that. That's sort of sexy, actually. What is it you said?"

Yasha shrugged and finished off his toast. "I said 'bozhe,' which means 'god.' Like, oh god. And then I think I tried to say 'khorosho,' which means 'that's good.' Because I liked what you are doing."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Harry teased. He was feeling much more himself and upbeat now that he had some food in him. "Unfortunately, I do still have to leave in about ten minutes."

"You have an appointment," Yasha said, nodded. "And you are helping a friend set up his shop."

"Um... yeah, sort of. The... well, the shop's already set up, but it's been closed for a while and he wants to reopen it soon, so I'm going to... help clean it up, I guess. Maybe rearrange some things."

"What shop is it?"

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It's in Diagon Alley," Harry explained as he stood, slipped his boxers back on, and headed for his bedroom again.

"Yes, the joke shop," Yasha said brightly as he followed Harry. "I thought maybe it is closed for good."

"No," Harry said quietly as he got out a clean pair of jeans and put them on. "It was just because of the war, but now..."

"And you know the men who run the shop? I think they are twins?"

Harry said nothing for a minute as he picked through the shirts hanging in his closet. "Yeah," he finally answered. "One of them died in the war, but the other one, well it's Ron's older brother, and he's helping, so I'm..." He trailed off and pulled a shirt on over his head. "I sort of paid for the shop to open in the first place, and I – I'd like to see it reopen. So, I'm going to go help out... see if there's anything I can do."

He turned to see a fully-dressed Yasha sitting on the edge of his bed, staring up at him.

"I didn't know he died," Yasha said quietly. "Or that they are your friends. I am sorry."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. Thanks. Um. I'll see you later?"

Yasha stood and pulled Harry in for a long kiss. "Thank you for last night," he whispered against Harry's lips. "And again this morning."

Harry smiled despite himself. "Shouldn't I be the one thanking you? I mean... I just lost my virginity."

"One of them, yes. And you lost your others with me, I think."

Harry blinked and stepped back. "I had more than one virginity?"

"I think," Yasha said, shrugging. "There's handjob and there's blowjob. And there's anal sex, and we did that, but you did it to me. And if someone does it to you, then you lose that virginity."

Harry bit back a laugh. "I had no idea," he said, trying to keep a straight face.

"It's just what I think," Yasha said cheerfully, heading for the front door.

Harry followed and led the way downstairs and out of the building. They walked to the corner together, then had to part ways.

"I'll send you an owl later this week," Harry said, glancing over his shoulder at the Auror trailing him.

"You don't have an owl," Yasha reminded him.

"I know, but I'm going to buy one today when I'm at Diagon Alley. Your response still has to be screened at the Ministry, but at least I'll get to send letters now."

Yasha smiled. "Good. I'll wait for your owl." Harry held out his hand, which Yasha shook with a wink. "Goodbye, Harry."

 

 

 

 

Harry showed up at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with enough Chinese take-out to feed a small army. He peered into the front window and saw George and Ron standing next to an empty WonderWitch display. He knocked on the door and, when George turned at the noise, held up the food he had brought for them to see. George turned to Ron, who gave Harry a long, hard look through the glass before nodding to George.

Harry kept his eyes on Ron as George crossed the store, went through the long process of unlocking the front doors, and finally letting Harry inside.

"Hungry, were you?" George asked, taking one of the bags out of Harry's hands.

"Just a bit," Harry said, grinning. "Hope you haven't eaten yet."

"No, we were just discussing where to go." George glanced over his shoulder at Ron, who was still standing awkwardly next to the WonderWitch sign, then lowered his voice to talk to Harry. "He wasn't sure you'd show."

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry asked, trying to read George's face. His heart was suddenly racing as he realized Ron may have confided in George about what had happened on Saturday night.

George gave Harry a sharp look, then shrugged and turned away. "Chinese?" he called to Ron.

Ron nodded and moved forward to take another bag from Harry. "Yeah, I'll eat anything at this point," he said, not quite meeting Harry's panicked, accusing gaze.

"Let's go eat upstairs," George suggested.

He led Ron and Harry through the back room and up the stairs to his apartment. Harry was surprised to find it full of half unpacked boxes. He had forgotten, in all the rest of the drama, that Ron had just moved in.

"How's your morning been?" George asked, setting down his bag on the kitchen table and unpacking it.

"Oh, um, good, I guess," Harry said, feeling completely uneasy. He had no idea how he was supposed to carry on a normal conversation with George and Ron when they all knew what was going on beneath the surface. "I had... my first meeting with a, um... a therapist Hermione and Kingsley said I should... talk to."

Ron looked up at Harry and their eyes locked. "How was it?" he asked in a stiff voice.

"It was all right," Harry answered truthfully. "He said I should eat more... hence the huge lunch."

"Why's he telling you to eat more?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Well..." Harry blushed slightly and looked back down at the food he was still carrying in a bag. "I haven't been eating much lately. I didn't eat anything at all yesterday, for example."

"Sounds healthy," George said, grabbing the bag out of Harry's hand and pulling out all the cartons. "Glad to see you're doing just as well as we are."

Harry wasn't sure how to take George's comment, so he said nothing while Ron finally unpacked the last bag.

"Exactly how much did he tell you to eat?" Ron asked, staring down at all the food.

"I got too much," Harry admitted. "I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I just... I got too much."

"At least there'll be leftovers," George reasoned as he pulled out some plates and silverware. "Dig in, I guess. I call dibs on anything with broccoli."

 

 

 

 

"How've you been?" Harry asked quietly as he and George unpacked boxes of dusty merchandise in the small storage room hidden off the back room.

"Oh, brilliant," George said sarcastically. "And how've you been?"

Harry gave George a half-hearted smile. "About the same."

"Yeah."

Harry pulled out a stack of Shield Hats. "Do you think people will still want to buy this sort of stuff?" he asked, setting them on a shelf with the rest of the Defense Against the Dark Arts products. "Now the war's over, I mean."

George shrugged. "I don't really care," he said bitterly. "Maybe they'll buy it, maybe they won't. Only way to find out is to try selling it."

"I guess that's true," Harry muttered, unsure how to interact with such an unhappy George.

"Mate," George said suddenly, leaning forward to make sure Ron wasn't lurking in the back room. "You reek of sex," he whispered.

Harry's mouth dropped open. He caught himself quickly, cleared his throat, and turned back to his box to try to stop George from seeing him blush. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, unpacking more Shield Hats.

"Means you reek of sex," George said casually. "You smell like sweat and lube." George sniffed the air loudly and Harry blushed deeper, keeping his face hidden. "And cum."

"Maybe I was just having a wank," Harry defended himself, silently cursing Yasha inside his head.

"Must have been some wank."

Harry glared at George over his shoulder. "It's none of your business, anyway."

"It sort of is, considering what Ron told me you two got up to the other night."

Harry said nothing and continued pulling Defense Against the Dark Arts products out of his quickly emptying box.

"If you're sleeping around behind Ron's back..."

"It's not behind Ron's back," Harry said quickly. "It's... look, I'm not discussing this with you."

"If you hurt Ron," George began, but Harry spun around to glower at him.

"I'm not hurting anyone! Ron – Ron came on to me, all right? And then he left the next morning and it didn't really seem like he'd be back for more any time soon."

"So that gives you the right to go out and sleep with someone else straight away?"

"You know what?" Harry asked, getting to his feet. "I don't have to be here." He stomped out of the storage room and walked dead into Ron. "Bloody hell," he cried out as he stumbled back a few steps. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded, rubbing his sore nose.

"Long enough," Ron said darkly.

"It's not what you think," Harry said quickly and immediately regretted it.

"It's not?" Ron asked, his voice getting louder as his ears and cheeks grew redder. "Then, please, tell me what is it, exactly?"

"It's not – it's nothing."

"It's nothing," Ron repeated, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. "It's nothing. You... going off and fucking around with Yakov _seconds_ after I leave is _nothing_?"

"It... it wasn't seconds," Harry protested feebly. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to make this better. He knew he had made a mistake; he'd known it was a mistake as it was happening, but he'd done nothing to stop it.

"How long, then?" Ron demanded. "Minutes? Hours?"

"Ron, don't do this," Harry pleaded.

"No!" Ron shouted and Harry jumped back in surprise. "Don't tell me what to do! You have no right... no right..." He trailed off, his breathing ragged.

"Ron, please," Harry whispered, staring as Ron started to fall apart before him. "I wasn't – I didn't think you'd ever come back or... or see reason. You said – you said you couldn't do it sober. You said you couldn't face your family or... you said your life wasn't supposed to be like this! I thought... I thought you'd made up your mind." Harry knew as he said it that this last part was a lie, but he didn't know what else to say. He had messed up too badly and couldn't see a way to fix it.

"I SAID I NEEDED TIME TO THINK!" Ron roared and Harry suddenly found himself trying to hold back tears. How had he forgotten Ron had said that? "Time to think and you – you – you just run off and sleep with him like _I don't even matter_!"

"You matter," Harry insisted, his voice breaking. "Ron, you know you do–"

"You said you wanted _me_ ," Ron growled. " _Me_ , not him. And as soon as I leave–"

"Ron, I made a mistake," Harry said softly. "A big one. I know... I know there's nothing I can say to make it better, but please – listen!" He called out as Ron turned and walked away. He followed Ron back out into the main room of the shop and grabbed Ron's arm, turning the taller man around to face him. "I thought we'd fucked up too badly," he said, staring pleadingly into Ron's furious blue eyes. "Please don't make this worse than it already is. Just calm down so we can talk about it."

Ron jerked his arm out of Harry's grip. "What did you do with him?"

Harry blinked, confused. "What?"

"You wanted to talk about it." Ron crossed his arms across his chest and stared expectantly at Harry. "What exactly did you do with him?"

"Ron," Harry said, the panicky feeling settling in his chest again. "Don't be like this."

"What. Did you do. With him." Ron's teeth were clenched, his lips barely moving.

Harry gulped and said nothing, his gaze falling to Ron's arms.

Ron huffed. "You really did it, didn't you?" he asked, the hurt unmistakable in his voice. "You actually went ahead and had sex with him."

Harry shook his head pointlessly.

"Stop lying to me," Ron snapped. He uncrossed his arms and stood awkwardly in front of Harry for a moment, clearly unsure what to do.

Harry waited for the blow to fall, wanting to be properly punished for making such a stupid mistake. When nothing happened, he looked up and thought for sure his heart would break at the sight. Ron was shaking with the effort not to hit Harry, his lips were pressed tightly together, his face was nearly purple, and there were tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

"It's done," he whispered.

Before Harry could say anything, Ron was gone. Harry listened helplessly as Ron stormed through the shop and ran up the stairs, back to his new flat. The upstairs door slammed and Harry closed his eyes against his own stinging tears. How could he possibly have been so foolish?

"Are you all right?"

Harry looked up, surprised to see George standing in the doorway to the back room.

"Um," Harry swallowed heavily and wiped one eye with a shaking hand. "Not really."

"Maybe you should go."

George's voice was not unkind, but Harry knew he was right. There was nothing more to be done about Ron, at least not right then.

"Will you... will you try to talk to him?" Harry asked, unable to look George in the eye.

"I can try," George offered hesitantly. "I'm not really sure there's much to say..."

Harry nodded and sniffed roughly, trying to calm himself down. "I'll just... go, then. I'm... sorry I couldn't be more help with the shop..."

"Don't worry about it," George said softly. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Um... mind letting me out the front? I have to go buy an owl."

George said nothing, but crossed the shop to unlock the doors for him.

"Thanks," Harry said under his breath as he brushed past George on his way out.

 

 

 

 

Harry returned to his flat an hour later, a new owl in tow. She was small, not much larger than Pig, but the shopkeeper at Eeylops had promised she was a dignified, highly trained, and loyal owl. She was mostly black, but had white feathers around her neck and eyes. Harry hadn't yet decided on a name for her, but found himself growing more attached to her each second. She seemed very sweet and she kept giving him long, thankful looks.

He set her cage up on a stand by the window in his bedroom and then fed her a few owl treats. She ate them quickly, hooted lowly at him in thanks, and then snuggled up to the rope attached to her swinging perch and promptly fell asleep. Harry watched her admiringly for a few moments, then covered her cage with the dark slip that had come with it, and went out to the living room.

What he really wanted to do was get good and drunk, but the bad memories from the day after his birthday prevented him from even trying. For the first time, though, he could appreciate what Ron had said about sobriety being too difficult. He wondered what Ron was doing at that moment; he wondered if Ron would ever talk to him again.

"Fucking idiot," Harry moaned as he lay down on the sofa and buried his face in a cushion. How could he have possibly messed up so badly? Could it have been because of the food? He hadn't eaten in so long... maybe he hadn't been in a fit state to make the right decision.

_No_ , a voice in his head disagreed, _you knew exactly what you were doing. You knew it was wrong and you did it anyway_.

Harry wrapped his arms around the cushion and screamed angrily into it.

_I need to do something_ , he thought. _I can't just stay here, I'll go mad_. He already felt quite mad.

He pushed himself up off the sofa and stood by it, staring blankly out the window and trying not to think of anything at all.

He had never felt more in need of a distraction, but couldn't help but feel disappointed and annoyed when it came in the form of a knock on the door.

Harry crossed the room hesitantly, thinking that he should probably pretend to be asleep or maybe not home at all. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the door with the faintest hint of a shadow of hope in his heart.

To his utter horror, it was not Ron, or George, or even Yasha.

It was Hermione.

To make things worse, her eyes were puffy and red; she had clearly just been crying.

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice coming out in a whisper. "Come in?"

Hermione nodded and pushed past him. Harry looked out in the hallway and saw Winston heading back for the stairs.

"Winston," Harry called, closing the door most of the way behind him as he chased after the Auror. "Winston."

Winston turned around and smiled warmly at Harry. "How's it going?"

"Um, badly," Harry said quickly. "Look, don't let anyone else up today, all right? I don't care who it is, not even the Minister, yeah?"

Winston nodded, looking slightly concerned. "Should I not have brought Ms. Granger?"

"No, that's fine," Harry lied. "Just no one else."

"Can do, sir. Have a good evening," Winston said as he turned and continued on toward the stairs.

Harry watched him leaving for a few seconds, then went back to his flat to find Hermione sitting on his sofa, sniffing quietly.

"Is something wrong?" he asked stupidly. "Can I get you anything? Tea?"

Hermione shook her head and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. "I shouldn't have come over..."

"No, it's fine," Harry said quickly, sitting down next to her. "You're welcome any time, you know that."

Hermione nodded and tried to take a deep breath. "Thank you."

"What happened?"

She shrugged and sniffed loudly. "Ron and I... had a row, I guess."

"Don't you always?" Harry asked, trying to make a joke.

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "Not like this," she whispered. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. It's probably nothing. It's just our first fight, you know. As a couple, I mean... obviously. It just... caught me off guard. I thought... thought we'd go out for a nice dinner, but..."

Harry put a hand on Hermione's knee as an attempt to comfort her, but said nothing. He had nothing to say; he was afraid he would give himself away. Besides, he knew he had no right to be comforting Hermione. He was the whole reason Ron was in a bad mood. Ron had cheated on Hermione... with him.

Harry cleared his throat suddenly and stood up. "I'll make tea," he said, moving over to the kitchen and filling a kettle with water. "You'll feel better."

Hermione said nothing as Harry pulled out two mugs and several cans of loose tea leaves.

"Thank you, Harry," she said a minute later when the kettle was starting to steam. She got up and went to look at his tea options. "I'm sorry for bothering you," she said quietly, reading a label. "I don't know what made me come here... I guess I wanted to see a friendly face.

"It's no problem. If... if you want to talk about it..." In truth, Harry didn't want to hear anything about her row with Ron, but he still felt he should offer.

Hermione shrugged and began filling one of the tea strainers Harry had left on the table. "He just... he was in such a bad mood, and he clearly wanted nothing to do with me, but I thought... well, I – I'm his girlfriend..."

"You wanted to help," Harry filled in for her as he poured water into her mug.

"I wanted to help," Hermione said quietly, staring sadly down at her mug. "I've never seen him look at me that way before," she whispered. Harry could see tears welling up in her eyes again. "He looked like he hated me. Like... like he didn't want me there, didn't want me anywhere near him, didn't want anything to do with me." She sniffed loudly and put the tea strainer in her mug, watching the water slowly change color. "I'm his girlfriend, you know?" she asked, her voice breaking.

Harry said nothing as he prepared his own tea. It killed him that Ron was hurting, that Ron was hurting because of him. It killed him that he had quite possibly ruined the relationship between his two best friends; he had always thought they'd end up growing old together, and he had spoiled the whole thing, first by not stopping Ron when he'd had the chance, and second by completely shattering Ron's trust in him.

"It's the war," he found himself saying suddenly. "We haven't recovered from it, yet. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe... maybe we're all going to be having bad days from now on. I mean, he was working with George... you know, in the shop. Maybe he was just... thinking a bit too much about Fred, and..."

Hermione brought her mug up to her lips and blew into it. "How'd you know he was working in the shop today?' she asked, looking up at him.

Harry gripped the handle of his own mug tightly, his body seeming to freeze for a moment. "I – well, I was there. I was helping. Helping George, mostly. Unpack boxes, you know." He took a sip of tea to stop himself from rambling anymore and burnt his tongue on the hot liquid.

"Oh." Hermione blew into her mug again. "Did he... Ron, I mean, was he in a bad mood when you were there?"

"A bit," Harry said, embarrassed to hear his voice come out so high. He swallowed nervously. "He was, um, sort of quiet and... and moody, I guess. It's like I said, maybe he was just having a bad day."

Hermione nodded. "Maybe."

"Do you want to sit down?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject.

Hermione nodded and headed back for the couch, Harry following close behind her. They sat down and Harry tried drinking his tea again, only to burn his tongue once more.

"How've you been?" Hermione asked softly. "I haven't seen you in a week."

"Fine," Harry said automatically. "I... well, I bought an owl. And I went to a therapist, like you wanted."

Hermione smiled slightly. "How was it? Was it worth it?"

"Um." Harry tried to think back on the appointment, but found that he could barely remember it. "I think so. He... he seems well-qualified."

"Who did you chose? Oh, you don't have to tell me," she quickly added. "Only if you feel comfortable talking about it."

Harry shrugged. "I don't – it doesn't matter. I went to Robert Roberts... sort of a silly name, but he was in the war... the Battle of Hogwarts..."

"That's good," Hermione said encouragingly. "That's really good. I hope he can help. I really hate seeing you this way all the time."

Harry gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah... I hope he can help, too."

"I wish Ron would agree to it. Maybe... maybe if you told him _you_ were doing it..."

"He knows," Harry said quickly. "I told him about it earlier."

"And?" Hermione asked somewhat hopefully.

"And... I don't think he's too keen on talking about his feelings at the moment," Harry said gently. "Maybe he just needs a bit more time."

Hermione nodded and drank some of her tea.

 

 

 

 

When Hermione finally left, after an hour of conversation so awkward Harry was downright amazed Hermione hadn't noticed, Harry immediately went to bed. He wanted quiet and peace of mind and sleep. As he had feared, however, he spent the whole night tossing and turning, thinking of Ron, thinking of Yasha, and sleeping very little.

By the time morning came, Harry had made up his mind: he needed to go try to speak to Ron, and he needed to do it _now_.

He waited as long as he could, wasting time by making tea and a small breakfast he didn't eat, and trying to give George and Ron enough time to wake up. By nine thirty, Harry felt sure he would literally lose his mind if he stayed is his flat one second longer, so he gave up on waiting and left.

"I'm off to Diagon Alley," he said under his breath as he passed Michael on a street corner. To his surprise, Michael started walking beside him instead of behind him.

"I'm supposed to ask you about the list, sir," he explained at Harry's curious look. "The list of people who are allowed into your flat without question. It was made without consulting you and we want to change that."

"How kind," Harry said flatly, thinking the list should have never been made in the first place.

"Please," Michael said apologetically, "tell me who you want on the list. We can update it right away."

"I don't want anyone on the list," Harry said quickly. "There's no one..." he trailed off, thinking about who he genuinely wanted to allow in his flat. "You can keep Ron – Ron Weasley – you can keep him on the list, but everyone else..."

"And the Minister?" Michael prompted. "He asked especially to be kept on."

"Fine," Harry said. "Kingsley and Ron, but that's it. And don't go telling everyone else they've been knocked off the list, just lie and say all the rules have been changed, all right?"

"Of course, sir."

"So how will other people be getting in, then?" Harry asked, thinking of Yasha.

"Well, that's something we'll have to discuss," Michael explained. "No one not on the list before has ever shown up. Except that Death Eater, obviously. But, yes, we will have to come up with a new policy for visitors."

"Good," Harry said distractedly as they approached the Leaky Cauldron. "Can we discuss it later, then? I'm not really up for it now."

"Of course, sir. May I..."

Harry turned to look at Michael and found that he had stopped walking. Harry glanced around for a sign of danger, then backtracked a few steps.

"Is something wrong?"

Michael's gaze was intense and he was frowning at Harry in a thoughtful sort of way. "If I may," he began, his voice so soft that Harry had to lean forward to hear him properly, "I'd like... to just say something. It's completely inappropriate and out of line and totally irrelevant to my job, but..."

In truth, Harry didn't want to hear anything Michael had to say; he knew it would have something to do with being a gay wizard and he didn't want advice. It _was_ out of line for Michael to say something to him about this particular topic, and he was about to tell Michael off for it, but Michael's sad, sympathetic expression caught his interest.

"Go on, then," Harry said gruffly, hoping he wouldn't regret this.

"I know I don't know you very well," Michael said quickly, "but I know a lot _about_ you. I watch you almost every day. I was given files a mile long to read, to memorize, before I was assigned to you. I've... well, I've known about you for years, haven't I? Everyone has."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Your point?"

Michael smiled nervously. "My point is that I feel as though I _do_ know you, even though I don't, and because of that... I just want to let you know that... that even if it seems completely hopeless, you should always go for it."

Harry thought about this for a second, then shook his head. "What?"

"Even if it seems hopeless," Michael said again, his voice low and intent, "you should go for it." When Harry continued to stare blankly at him, he elaborated reluctantly. "Even when – even when they seem straight, even when they seem like they'll never pull their heads out of their arses long enough to realize they _aren't_ straight, even when it seems there's no possible _hint_ of light at the end of the tunnel... when it comes to friendship, it is _always_ worth the effort. Even if it doesn't turn out the way you want, as long as you try, and as long as you make preserving the friendship your top priority, you can't go wrong. They just need a little guidance sometimes. It's not always as easy for other blokes to accept these things about themselves."

Harry stared wide-eyed at Michael for a few long moments, his mouth hanging open slightly.

"Sorry," Michael said, blushing. "I know that was inappropriate, but you remind me so much of myself a few years ago. I just had to say something."

Harry closed his mouth and swallowed the dry lump in his throat. "Were you and Karl best friends, then?" he asked, unable to stop himself.

"No," Michael said, looking relieved that Harry wasn't going to yell at him. "I'm... blimey, please don't tell him I've told you about this, but I'm talking about Winston. We've been best mates since we were eleven. Not unlike you and Mr. Weasley, I think. I was... massively in love with him for years. It took me ages – ages and ages – to finally tell him about it, and it was a complete mess when I did. He still thinks he's as straight as they come and everything was terribly awkward for weeks, but after that... it does get better, I promise you. Like I said, as long as you make the friendship your priority – the friendship, not the romance – as long as you do that, you'll be golden."

Harry could feel fear and anger bubbling up in his chest and he did his best to ignore it. "Look, that's nice of you and all, but whatever you think is going on between me and Ron–"

"I know I'm assuming things," Michael said apologetically. "And I know I'm overstepping a huge line. I just... I don't like seeing you like this. I really enjoy working with you and I've always admired your courage. What you did at the Battle of Hogwarts... there aren't many Aurors who would have been so calm about any of that. You're incredibly mature and extremely gifted, and I really dislike seeing you so upset all the time. I was just trying to help."

Harry swallowed again, trying to master his emotions. "Fine," he said tersely. "That's – thanks, I guess. Um... I'll try to keep all that in mind. Not that there's anything going on," he added quickly.

Michael nodded. "Of course not. I'm imagining things. I'm sorry to bother you with all that, sir. Please," he gestured at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, "after you."

Harry turned and went into the pub without saying another word to Michael. He had no idea what to do with that advice. Make the friendship the top priority? What was that supposed to mean? At any rate, it was too late for that; their friendship had been compromised as soon as they'd kissed. There was no easy way to recover from that, even if Harry hadn't gone and complicated things further by sleeping with Yasha the next night.

In the time it took Harry to cross through the pub, tap the brick wall out back, and walk through to Diagon Alley, his entire plan disappeared and he was left utterly bewildered. What the hell was he doing here? There was no way Ron would talk to him so soon; it was foolish to think otherwise. Why had he thought showing up at George's flat early in the morning would make a difference?

He turned to go back through the Leaky and on home, but saw Michael coming through the brick entrance way and turned right back around again. He would rather attempt to talk to Ron than have to say anything to his Auror right then.

He walked down the alley, trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone. He still wasn't used to being out in public in the Wizarding world; he'd been avoiding it and living predominantly in Muggle London all summer. People were just as unused to seeing him as he was to seeing them; he could feel their eyes on him.

When he reached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he saw through the windows that the shop was empty, so he went behind the building and up the back staircase. He knocked on the door as soon as he reached the top step, not wanting to give himself any time to reconsider what he was doing.

The curtains on the front door's window shifted and Harry found himself looking at George through the glass. George rolled his eyes and closed the curtains, then opened the door a second later. He stepped outside before Harry could go into the flat, though, and closed the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" George asked, sounding more confused than mean.

"I... well, I've come to talk to Ron, haven't I?"

"Hm, no, you haven't," George said after a second. "It's far too soon, Harry."

"What? It's not – _George_! I've come to talk to Ron," Harry said in the sternest voice he could muster. "Let me in."

"There is absolutely no way you're going through this door. Or through the Floo, or through the walls, or through the floor, or through the roof. You can't see him. I won't let you."

"Well, why the hell not?" Harry practically shouted. He didn't know why he was insisting on this. Just moments before he had been dreading seeing Ron, but now he hoped that his shouting would bring Ron to the door to see what all the noise was.

"He's not ready," George hissed. "Why can't you get it through your thick skull that he needs time to think? Did he not scream it at you yesterday? Blimey, Harry, just how stupid are you?"

Harry pouted. "I'm not... look, I just want to talk to him."

"And I'm just saying no," George said, a finality to his voice that reminded Harry of Molly. "You can't see him. He needs more time and you need to be more patient. I am trying to help here, but you need to give him some space."

"Space," Harry repeated sadly. "He's – he's my best friend, George."

"You think I don't know that?" George asked angrily. "You think I want to watch my baby brother lose his best friend, the way I've just lost mine?"

Harry's mouth dropped open. "I – I didn't–"

"It doesn't matter," George said, shaking his head dismissively. "Please leave him alone. He'll come to you when he's ready. You're just going to have to wait."

Harry narrowed his eyes at George, then turned and walked back down the stairs without saying goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Harry spent the rest of Tuesday committing chapters of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ to memory. He didn't know what else to do, so he devoted his entire attention to the book and refused to let any thoughts of Ron intrude on his studying.

He slept fitfully again and started the next morning with another plan formed. He got out of bed at eight o'clock, wrote Yasha a note, and sent his new owl on her first delivery.

He ate no breakfast and spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon reading about more spells. Concentrating on the book and nothing else was becoming easier; he found that he was finally feeling somewhat calm thanks to the distraction. He read chapters over and over again, trying to understand the complex theory, trying to visualize McGonagall, or even Hermione, explaining everything in a simpler way.

Engrossed as he was in the textbook, it came as a surprise when there was a knock on his door at six o'clock. Harry got up from where he had been lying on the floor, wondering what had been decided about how to let visitors into his flat.

Winston was standing in the hallway and Harry suddenly remembered what Michael had said about believing Winston to be gay.

"Mr. Dmitriev is here," Winston said, smiling. "Would you like him to come up or should I send him away?"

"No, he's allowed," Harry said. "Send him up."

Winston nodded and walked away. Harry closed his door and went to tidy up the room; he put the book and all the cushions back on the sofa, dragged the coffee table back in front of the sofa, and tried to readjust the rug. He didn't want Yasha to see that he had spent the entire day lounging on the floor.

After a few minutes, there was more knocking, and Harry opened the door again. Yasha grinned at him and stepped forward for a kiss. Harry tried to pull back, but Yasha grabbed his arms, kicked the door shut, and then turned to slam Harry into the door.

"Yasha, we can't–" Harry muttered against Yasha's lips, trying to push him away.

"Why not?" Yasha asked, his warm hand sliding up under Harry's shirt.

"We need to talk," Harry said, trying to sound sensible and firm.

Yasha frowned slightly, looking closely at Harry for a moment, then stepped back. "Is something wrong?"

Harry nodded slightly. "We just – we should talk. Let's sit." Harry led Yasha over to the sofa and they sat down next to each other, Yasha putting his hand on Harry's thigh and looking at him in a comforting sort of way. Harry looked down at his hands. "Um."

"Did something bad happen?"

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not really like that," he said quietly. "I just don't think..." He paused, hoping Yasha would read his mind so he wouldn't have to say anything, but when Yasha said nothing and the silence grew heavy, he continued, "...we should do this anymore."

Yasha's fingers twitched slightly, and then his hand was gone from Harry's leg.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, turning to look at Yasha's sad and confused face. "I'm really sorry. I like you a lot, I think you're wonderful, really, I do. I just... I can't do it anymore. It's not... it wouldn't be right. I'm sorry."

"It's not right?" Yasha asked, frowning. "How is this not right? You say you like me and I... Harry, I don't like anyone this much in a long time."

Harry looked back down at his hands. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, hating to hurt Yasha. "I just can't. It doesn't have anything to do with you. I just... I'm just not... I just can't. I don't know how to explain it."

"You have to explain it. I didn't do anything wrong and I always try to make sure you are all right with what we are doing..."

Harry sighed and looked back up at Yasha. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. You're wonderful, I told you. It really doesn't... I mean, I know this is terribly cliche, but it's really not about you. It's completely about me and I feel really... miserable doing this to you, but I don't think there's a choice. It's unfair to you for me to keep pretending that this is what I really want."

Harry hoped this would make things better, but Yasha looked more devastated than ever.

"Pretending?" Yasha asked, his voice barely audible.

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, that's not the right word. Not at all. I was never pretending. What I meant... what did I mean? What I meant was, I can't keep pretending that you're the... the one I'm _supposed_ to be with. Wait, no." Harry sighed ran a hand over his face, trying to think. "I fancy you a lot," he said after a moment. "There's nothing we did together that I didn't want to do. There was nothing false between us, I _did_ want you... I – I _do_. There's just... I have a lot of feelings for you, but..." Harry sighed, knowing he would have to say what he had absolutely not wanted to say to Yasha. "I have stronger feelings for someone else."

"You are cheating on me?" Yasha asked harshly.

"No," Harry lied. "No, I'm not. I would never do that. I don't _want_ to do that... that's why I have to end this. I don't want to hurt you any more than I'm already doing."

"I'm not hurt," Yasha defended himself. "I am angry. I asked you before if you have feelings for your friend Ron, and you said no!"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "What – no, it doesn't have anything to do with him! It's... it's someone else, it's one of his brothers. Look, Yasha..." Harry reached under his glasses to rub his eyes. This wasn't going at all well. "I really don't want you to be angry or hurt. I'm trying to break this off amicably and... I don't want to lose you as a friend." Harry looked up to meet Yasha's skeptical gaze. "You're the only gay wizard I know, or, at least the only one I feel comfortable talking to. And I don't mean that I'm using you for that or anything, I just mean... I really enjoy your company. And you have every right to feel the way you do, but I'm... sort of hoping that when you stop feeling that way, you'll still want to be friends."

Yasha shook his head. "I don't want to be friends."

Harry nodded, feeling like the lowest scum of the earth. "That's fair," he whispered.

"I really don't like what you are doing. And I really don't like that you are lying about it."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then decided against it. There was no point. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, hoping Yasha would take his apology as genuine. "I really am."

"I know you are. You are a good person and I know you don't want this to end the wrong way. I have a hard time talking about what I really want to say when I'm upset," he said, sounding angry with himself. "I lose my English and I don't know what to say."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again.

Yasha sighed and slumped back on the sofa cushions. "It won't be now, but I think I do want to be your friend," he said.

"I want to be your friend, too. I really appreciate everything you've done for me. I feel like I haven't done anything in return and I still want to do that."

"You don't have to do anything. I don't need anything from you. I was happy for a while and that's enough."

Harry looked away again, thinking that Yasha was far too good for him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Stop apologising. You know you are doing the right thing now. You don't need to be sorry for it." Yasha stood suddenly, and Harry looked up at him. "I need to go home," he explained. "I don't want to be here anymore and I am hungry for dinner."

Harry nodded and got up to see Yasha to the door. "Can I... can I ask a horribly selfish question before you go?" he asked, feeling completely ridiculous. He really didn't want to do this now, but he wasn't sure if he would ever get the chance again.

Yasha shrugged. "Okay."

"When we first met, and you had me over for tea and you kissed me... how did you know? How did you know I was gay, how did you know I would even want that?"

Yasha smiled a bit sadly. "Sometimes you just know these things," he said gently. "There are little signs of it. I guessed some, with you. I didn't know completely, but I thought I was right... I _hoped_ was right. And... I was."

Harry nodded, wondering what the signs were that had given him away. He had always tried to be so careful.

"I only met your friend once," Yasha continued, and Harry's eyes snapped back to Yasha's. "I don't know him, but I know he cares for you a lot. He was very jealous of me. I don't know for sure he is gay. There is no way to know for sure. But there is always a chance."

Harry gulped, unable to say anything as his eyes stayed locked with Yasha's.

"Goodbye, Harry."

Yasha opened the door and let himself out before Harry could say goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Harry spent the next three days doing very little. He continued reading his textbook, and even tried out a few spells with moderate success. He felt a lot better about his situation now that he didn't have to worry about Yasha. Sometimes he thought he missed Yasha, other times he knew it was simply that he missed being around other people.

To ease his loneliness slightly, he went out on Saturday to buy a stereo system. He didn't own any CDs or tapes, but he spent the night listening to Muggle radio stations. Music, he found, had an even greater calming effect on him than reading _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_. With music, he didn't have to think at all; he could simply listen to the instruments and the lyrics. He slept slightly better that night, with a smooth jazz station on softly in the background.

On Sunday, he decided to name his new owl Ella, after Ella Fitzgerald. Some station had played a few songs of hers in a row, and he resolved to go out and buy some of her music so he could listen to more of it.

Thoughts of Ron and Hermione and Yasha floated vaguely in and out of his head, but generally he thought of nothing but becoming an Auror and building a music library. He was growing numb to the pain and the anxiety and the drama. He wasn't sure if this was a healthy or unhealthy coping mechanism, but he thought it was better than nothing, and maybe Mr. Roberts could give him some advice at his next appointment.

When the appointment came that Monday, Harry was amazed that an entire week had already gone by with not much happening besides breaking things off with Yasha. The week had gone by surprisingly fast considering he had done next to nothing for days on end and wasn't eating or sleeping very well at all.

Predictably, Mr. Roberts told him to eat and sleep more, but the therapist also encouraged Harry to continue listening to music, and suggested he find a hobby to occupy more of his time and energy. When Harry left Mr. Robert's office, he headed to Flourish & Blotts to see if it had any magical cookbooks, which he had meant to buy weeks ago but had never gotten around to doing.

At the shop, he found a few shelves dedicated to cooking and was reading a humourous paragraph trying to explain an electric stove in _Muggle Kitchens: How and Why_ , when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned around and came face-to-face with a very scruffy-looking George.

"How's it going?" Harry asked, setting down the cookbook. "You look terrible."

"I've been pulling all-nighters, trying to make some new products," George explained. He held up a basket full of potions books. "It's not working, so I've come for help."

Harry nodded and glanced at some of the book titles. "Yeah, Ron's always been pretty useless at potions. I bet he's not doing you any good."

"You can say that again," George muttered, setting the basket down. "He's bloody pathetic. Even Fred was better at potions than him, and that's really saying something."

Harry smiled. "Well, I hope you're at least decent. Otherwise, I might not be too keen on buying your new merchandise."

"Are you kidding? I got an O on my Potions O.W.L."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What, really?"

George frowned at him. "Yes, _really_."

"I'd no idea," Harry admitted. "I thought you and Fred just had a lot of dumb luck," he teased.

George rolled his eyes, though Harry could see a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Trying to pick up a cookbook," Harry explained, gesturing at the shelves. "Is, um... how's Ron doing?"

George shrugged and picked up the Muggle cuisine book Harry had been looking at. "He's a bit of a mess," he said quietly, pretending to read the back cover. "He's just broken up with Hermione, so..."

Harry's heart dropped into his stomach. "He what?"

George nodded and opened the book to a random page. "Yeah, on Saturday. Good news for you, eh?"

"Not really," Harry said defensively. The thought of Ron and Hermione breaking up didn't please him at all, even if it did mean that Ron might be interested in him. "Is he all right? Is he upset?"

"Of course he's upset," George said, setting the book back on the shelf. "He'll get over it, though. He's thrown himself into product development... it's extremely messy, but at least he's distracted."

"Can I... is he ready to talk to me, yet?" Harry asked, preparing himself for more bad news.

George shook his head. "No. He's just gone and dumped the girl he's been after for years, Harry. It was a _huge_ step for him, you have to realize that. Listen, he barely talks to me about this stuff. I practically have to reach down his throat for the words to come out. He's not ready at all, but he is making progress. I told you, you have to wait."

"I've been waiting!" Harry whined. "Do you have any idea how boring it is to wait around for something like that?"

George shrugged. "I never said he'd be ready any time soon."

"Well, tell him to hurry up!"

George smiled. "You really fancy him, don't you?"

Harry went red. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Here's a question for you: what do you think's going to happen when Ron decides he wants to be with you, and then he has to come out to the rest of the family, and Ginny finds out that her brother is shagging her ex-boyfriend?"

Harry sighed heavily. "I don't know, George. What do you think's going to happen?"

"Drama," George said shortly. "And lots of it. It's not going to be easy for Ron to make this decision, and you need to realize that. It's not just about whether he's comfortable admitting that he wants to shag a bloke, which, by the way, he's absolutely not comfortable admitting. It's about the consequences. You dated our sister, Harry. She was very fond of you and you hurt her a lot. You're expecting Ron to just ignore all these outside factors, but he's not going to. You need to be more patient, and when he _does_ come talk to you, you need to be a hell of a lot more understanding."

Harry pursed his lips and turned back to the bookshelves. He _was_ understanding... wasn't he? He was giving Ron all the time and space that George was demanding. And it wasn't as though he had never thought about the consequences of dating Ron before; he had always known it would cause some drama with the rest of the Weasley family. But... but maybe George was right; Harry really hadn't thought about just how much drama there would be, or how that would affect Ron. Ron was so close with his family and it was hard for Harry to truly appreciate what that meant for him and the choices he made with his life.

"I want to see you two together," George said quietly as Harry pulled out a book and riffled through it, glancing at the names of all the recipes. "I think he'd be happy with you. But it's going to take him a while to get there. It was always going to take him a while, and what you did with that other bloke isn't going to speed up the process any. You just need to be patient."

Harry said nothing as he replaced the book and pulled out another.

"I'll see you around," George said, and when Harry finally turned again, he was gone.

 

 

 

 

When Harry got home that evening with two supposedly "classic" magical cookbooks, he dropped them onto his kitchen counter and went into his room to write a letter.

_Dear Hermione,_  
I heard about what happened with Ron, and I'm really sorry. I wish I had more comforting words to say, but I don't. If you want to come over tomorrow for lunch or dinner, you are more than welcome. Please come over any time.  
Love, Harry  
P.S. This is my new owl, Ella. 

Harry rolled up his piece of parchment, tied it to Ella's leg, and sent her out the window. He watched her fly off into the distance until he couldn't see her anymore, thinking it was entirely his fault that Ron and Hermione's relationship had ended. He didn't feel entirely comfortable inviting Hermione over, but he did feel obligated. More than that, he wanted to make sure she was all right. She was still his best friend, his other best friend, and he couldn't abandon her, even if he was secretly trying to seduce her recently ex-boyfriend. He wondered if she would ever forgive him and Ron if she found out the truth.

Panicking, Harry gripped his windowsill tightly. How did he know Hermione didn't already know the truth? He had just assumed that Ron wouldn't have told her... but what if Ron _had_ told her? What if she already knew the truth and she showed up the next day to jinx Harry?

_She wouldn't do that to me_ , he tried to convince himself.

_Why the hell didn't I ask George if Hermione knew when I had the chance?_

He closed his window and went back to the kitchen to make dinner, trying not to think about it. If Hermione knew, there was nothing he could do about it now. Maybe she would be too angry with him to come over the next day. He almost hoped that wasn't the case; he would rather battle a distraught Hermione than have her ignore him for the rest of their lives. He didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he lost either Ron _or_ Hermione because of all this.

When these thoughts overwhelmed him and he couldn't even focus enough to pick out a recipe from one of his new books, he turned on the radio.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Harry was woken up by the sound of pecking on his window. He begrudgingly got up to let Ella in and found that she was carrying an envelope from the Ministry. He tore it open and found a note from Hermione inside.

_Harry,_  
Thank you for the kind letter. If it's all right, I think I will come see you for lunch.  
Hermione  
P.S. Your new owl is beautiful. 

Harry read it a few times, trying to gauge her tone. She didn't seem angry or like she was hiding the fact that she somehow knew the truth about what was going on between Harry and Ron; the letter just seemed sad. After a minute, Harry tossed the letter aside, closed the window, and went back to bed. He hadn't gotten more than two hours of sleep the entire night, and he was angry that he had been woken up yet again, this time by something other than his own guilty conscience.

When he had no luck falling back asleep, he got up to make breakfast. He wasn't hungry, but he made sausages and scrambled eggs and forced himself to eat it. He didn't know when he would ever be hungry again, but he did know it was stupid to starve himself.

After his breakfast, Harry pulled out _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ and set about reading it. He had read it twice already and was finally getting bored with it, especially since he wasn't having the greatest luck with performing most of the magic. His spells were usually either too weak to be fully effective, or completely without results. He was considering trying out the N.E.W.T. Charms or Potions textbooks, when someone knocked on his door.

He answered it and found Michael standing in the hallway, smiling awkwardly.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. I hope... you're having a good afternoon. Ms. Hermione Granger is here, would you like her to come up?"

"Yeah, I invited her," Harry said shortly, glad that Michael was clearly ashamed of his inappropriate comments from the other day, but also not very keen on seeing him.

Michael nodded. "Right. Goodbye, then, sir," he said, walking away.

Harry rolled his eyes and closed the door. He went to his kitchen and began pulling out food, trying to decide what he should make for Hermione. He had just about settled on simple sandwiches when she knocked.

"How are you?" Harry asked, opening the door and letting her in.

Hermione shrugged and avoided making eye contact. "I'm all right, I guess."

"Would you like some lunch?" Harry offered. "I can make sandwiches."

"Oh, I'm – I'm not hungry. Thank you, though."

"Are you sure? You should eat," Harry said gently. "We could just have a snack..."

Hermione shook her head and Harry let it go; he knew exactly how she felt.

"Well..." Harry struggled to come up with something they could do that wasn't eating.

"Have you seen him?" Hermione asked quietly, looking up at Harry with sad, tired eyes.

"Oh. Um. No, no, not since... since that day you had that row. Last Monday, was it?"

"How did you hear about it, then?"

"I saw George yesterday," Harry explained. "He told me."

Hermione nodded and looked back down at the floor. "He's still not really talking to you, is he?"

"Er... no. Not... not too much. A bit, maybe, but... but not since that day."

"I think," Hermione said, her voice already breaking, "I think there might be something wrong with him. I've never seen him like this before. There has to be – there has to be some reason for it. I'm so... I'm just worried about him." She sniffed and wiped impatiently at her eyes. "I wish he'd go and get help, like you're doing. I wish he wasn't so... bloody stubborn."

Harry's insides squirmed uncomfortably. "I wish I could help," he said. "There's really only so much either of us can do..."

Hermione nodded and rubbed her eyes again. "I just thought maybe you would have some answers," she said, glancing up at Harry. "But I guess he's treating you about the same."

Harry shrugged. "If... if I had answers, if I knew anything, I would tell you." He sincerely hoped this statement wouldn't come back later to bite him on the arse; if the truth ever came out, he couldn't even imagine her reaction.

Hermione sighed. "Well... I should go, but thank you for inviting me."

"What, no, you don't have to go," Harry said quickly, feeling terrible that he had no way of making her feel better. "Why don't you stay? We could... we could play a game or something. Or, or read. I've got some of the seventh year books..."

Hermione managed to give him a small smile. "No, thanks. I really... I really only wanted to stop by for a few minutes. I do appreciate the offer though... it's sweet that you're trying."

"Why wouldn't I try?" Harry asked, unsure if he should feel hurt by her words. "You're still my best friend. I don't want to see you this way."

"That's why I should go," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Harry watched helplessly as Hermione let herself out of his flat without saying goodbye. Some friend he was; he couldn't even properly clean up after his own messes, and now he'd gone and made things even worse for all the people he cared about.

 

 

 

 

Harry spent three days forcing himself to read textbooks before deciding to give himself a break. He was about to enter into a three-year long training program, and he was wasting his last moments of free time with homework. There was only one week left before he started at the Ministry, and he wanted to spend it listening to music and cooking. Possibly even baking, as he'd come across a section in one of the cookbooks about cakes and had been craving chocolate and sugar ever since.

On Friday night, Harry went to the Leaky Cauldron for drinks with Hagrid, who had sent him a note the day before.

"Harry," Hagrid said cheerfully when Harry walked into the pub. He went over to Hagrid's table quickly, just narrowly preventing Hagrid from standing up to greet him and causing a scene.

"Hello, Hagrid," Harry said as he sat down opposite Hagrid at a table in a dark corner.

"Blimey, I've missed you. It's been a tough summer, eh?"

Harry nodded. "That's putting it lightly."

"I invited Ron along as well," Hagrid said, and Harry's spirits fell. "Said he was busy, though," Hagrid continued. "Shame. I would have liked to have seen him."

"He's been really busy lately," Harry said, feeling only slightly relieved. "He's helping George get the Wheezes shop ready to open again."

"Is he, now?" Hagrid asked, grinning. "That's excellent. I've been worried all the old shops were closed for good."

"Yeah... well, with any luck, George and Ron will reopen it, soon. I think they're even developing some new stuff to sell."

"I can't believe you and Ron won't be around Hogwarts this year," Hagrid said sadly. "It'll be hard getting used to that for good, now."

"I'm sure Hermione will visit you plenty," Harry said reassuringly.

"Nah," Hagrid dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "She'll be too busy studying for her N.E.W.T.s, won't she?"

"She'll make time for you, Hagrid," Harry insisted. "I'm sure of it."

"Nice of you to say," Hagrid said, smiling slightly. "I think she'll be wanting to spend her free time visiting with Ron, though, don't you?"

Harry sighed. "I... doubt it. They broke up last weekend."

Hagrid shook his head. "No. Couldn't be. They've been after each other for years..."

Harry shrugged. "I was surprised, too, but..."

"But _why_?" Hagrid asked. "What could have happened to make them do that?"

Harry shrugged again. "I don't really know," he lied.

"You don't know?" Hagrid asked disbelievingly. "But you must know. They're your best friends."

Harry cleared his throat and glanced over at the bar, wondering if he could end the conversation by walking away to get a drink.

"It has been a tough summer, hasn't it?" Hagrid asked slowly.

Harry looked back across the table at his friend, then scooted out of the booth and stood. "I'm going for a drink," he explained. "Do you want a refill on that?" he pointed to the large tankard near Hagrid's elbow.

"Not yet," Hagrid said vaguely, so Harry went to the bar.

Well over an hour later, Hagrid was beet red and sweating from all the alcohol, while Harry simply felt warm and content. It was good to see an old friend again, and even if Hagrid kept trying to bring up people who had died in the war, their conversation was generally enjoyable.

Harry was halfway through what he was pretty sure was his fourth gigantic glass of a rather strong ale when Hagrid suddenly shouted. He jumped in his seat and turned around to see who Hagrid was yelling at. To his drunken horror, George and Ron were making their way over to the table, Hagrid bellowing greetings at them all the while.

"Come and sit with us," Hagrid insisted, sliding over as far as he could on his seat.

George looked at Ron, who shrugged in an unenthusiastic sort of way.

"Why don't you go get us some drinks," George suggested, sitting next to Harry.

Ron disappeared quickly and Harry wondered if he should make a run for it.

"I'm blocking your exit for a reason," George muttered, and Harry stared at him, wondering if he'd recently learned Legilimency.

"You keep saying it's too soon," Harry hissed through clenched teeth, trying to keep Hagrid from overhearing them. "I'm _drunk_ , George."

"I can see that. Just relax."

Harry did anything but relax when Ron came back to the table with drinks and sat next to Hagrid. He tried to focus on the shallow conversation, tried not to notice the way that Ron kept switching between completely avoiding eye contact with him and being seemingly unable to keep from staring at him.

"We're hoping to open in a week," George was saying some time later, when Harry was almost done his fifth ale. By that point, the only thing he could think about was the dull ache in his stomach and his painfully full bladder. He was half considering pissing himself, just to get out of this awkward situation. "That way we can catch the pre-Hogwarts rush next weekend."

"Smart move," Hagrid said appreciatively. He was on what Harry thought was his fifteenth tankard.

"If we can manage it," George agreed. "It'll be somewhat of a rush."

"I can help," Harry offered before he could stop himself. "If you'd like."

George looked at Ron, who shrugged in the same unenthusiastic way he had earlier.

Another hour passed before Harry decided he needed to go home before he drank so much he wouldn't be able to make it back on his own. He suggested an end to the night and, to his relief, everyone else agreed. George got out of the booth and Harry scooted after him, grabbing his jacket from where it had fallen onto the dirty floor. He stood up, a bit wobbly, and put it on.

"Can we talk?" a soft voice near Harry's ear asked.

Harry glanced over his shoulder to find Ron standing directly behind him, also shrugging on a jacket.

"Um," Harry said stupidly.

"Please?" Ron whispered, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

"Yeah, all right."

"Thanks." Ron turned around to face George. "I'm just going to stop by Harry's for a bit."

Harry watched as George's jaw dropped open in surprise. "Er..."

"It's all right," Ron assured him. "I'll see you later. Bye, Hagrid."

Harry waved to George and Hagrid before leading Ron out of the Leaky, hoping it wasn't a bad idea to talk to Ron when they were both smashed.

 

 

 

 

"Do you want some firewhisky?" Harry asked as soon as they reached his flat.

"I'm pretty drunk already," Ron said hesitantly, clearly tempted by the offer.

"That's fine... probably a bad idea," Harry admitted, taking his jacket off and tossing it onto the kitchen table. "So... how've you been?" he asked quietly, not quite meeting Ron's eye. "I heard you broke up with Hermione."

"Yeah, I've been busy with the shop mostly," Ron explained. Harry waited for him to say something about Hermione, but Ron remained silent.

"You think you'll be ready to open by next weekend?"

"I hope so."

Another silence fell between them and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He could feel Ron's eyes on him, but couldn't make himself look up.

"Well..."

"George keeps telling me I should give you another shot," Ron said suddenly. Harry shifted again, still unable to meet Ron's intense gaze. "I wanted to have it be done with – you hurt me, that's it. But he keeps saying all these things about our friendship and how much it's worth... I think it's some sort of Fred-related thing, but I'm not sure."

Harry cleared his throat and forced himself to look up at Ron. "I think our friendship's worth a lot," he said. "And I want – I need to keep it, even if you don't want to give me another shot. I don't deserve one, anyway." He gulped, hoping he hadn't just given Ron an excuse to walk away. He hadn't quite meant to say that last part, even if he did believe it.

"You had every right to sleep with him," Ron said, sounding as though he was still trying to convince himself of this. "You're dating him, not me."

"Not anymore," Harry corrected him quickly.

"I – oh..." Ron stared hard at Harry for a long moment, then shrugged. "It doesn't matter. At the time, you _were_ dating him. I said you should be with him if he makes you happy, so that's what you did."

"There's no excuse for what I did. It was stupid and wrong and you shouldn't be bothering to forgive me for it."

Ron shrugged and looked away. Harry tried to tell if Ron was blushing, but couldn't because his face was already flushed from the alcohol. He wondered how red his own face was, and realized the pair of them probably looked ridiculous just then.

Harry blinked and tried to switch his drunken thoughts back over to the situation at hand. He was having a hard time deciphering what Ron was saying; did Ron want to forgive and be with Harry, or was he dismissing the possibility?

"So..." he tried, but nothing else came out. He didn't know what he was supposed to be asking.

"This is all just really difficult for me," Ron explained. "I don't know why it's so much harder for me than it is for you, but–"

"Probably because you've got a family," Harry interrupted, remembering what George had said. "They're a big part of your life and this..."

Ron shrugged again. "Maybe... but, anyway, I am... I am trying my best here."

"I'm not ever going to ask you to do something you don't want to do or aren't ready to do or aren't comfortable with," Harry said quickly, hoping he wasn't misinterpreting Ron's words. "This – I mean – it's entirely your decision."

Ron nodded and looked away from Harry, his face growing impossibly redder. "Some of the... the physical stuff... I mean, I want it. Merlin knows, I do, but I'm not used to it just yet. I've always told myself not to think about it, so it's still really new and weird and sort of... taboo for me."

"That's fine," Harry assured him. "We don't have to do anything." He wasn't sure what he meant by that; he wanted more than anything to be naked with Ron again.

"Well..." Ron said uncertainly.

Harry studied Ron's flushed face for a moment, trying to figure out where this conversation was going, or at least where it _should_ be going. He felt confused; he wasn't entirely sure any decisions had been made and he didn't know what Ron was expecting to happen next. He didn't want push things too far, too fast.

"Do you want to play a round of chess before you go home?" he asked, trying to keep things casual so Ron wouldn't feel pressured. He was dying for concrete answers, but thought that might not be the best approach, especially considering they were both inebriated.

Ron looked slightly confused by Harry's offer. "I'm probably too drunk for that," he said slowly. "Or much else... could I – I mean, would you mind if... if I stayed here tonight?" It was obvious how awkward Ron felt asking this question, but Harry was practically jumping for joy that he had done so.

"You can stay," he said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "We can set the sofa up with some extra sheets and pillows. Sorry I don't have a bed in the spare room to offer..."

Ron shrugged and eyed the sofa hesitantly. Harry's heart thumped in his chest as he tried to guess what Ron was thinking.

"Or... you're more than welcome in my bed, of course."

"Just for sleeping?" Ron asked, his eyes wide and focused on Harry.

"Just for sleeping," Harry said, nodding.

Ron licked his lips nervously and fingered the collar of the jacket he was still wearing. "All right," he agreed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Harry couldn't help but grin. "All right."

"Can I use your toilet?" Ron asked suddenly.

Harry nodded and watched as Ron almost ran into the loo. He paused for a moment, then went into his room to change. He yanked off his clothes, then pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and a plain white t-shirt, hoping it wasn't too much or too little.

He slid into his bed and settled himself under the covers, waiting nervously for Ron to come in. After what felt like an hour, Ron finally entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He looked at Harry, licked his lips again, and then set about undressing. Harry tried to busy himself with his alarm clock so he wouldn't be staring as Ron got progressively more naked.

Finally, wearing what Harry could only describe as obscenely tight and brightly colored briefs, Ron slid into the bed next to Harry.

"Um," Ron said as Harry used his wand to put out the light.

"We don't have to talk," Harry said soothingly. "We can just sleep. Though I really... I do want to apologize. What I did... with Yasha... it wasn't..." Harry sighed and rolled onto his side to face Ron. "I really didn't want to hurt you," he continued. "And I'm really sorry that I did. You're amazing for being willing to try this even though I did that to you. So... I just want to say I'm sorry. And thank you... I really appreciate that you're willing to give it another shot."

Ron said nothing for a few minutes and Harry wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep with his eyes open. "Mostly, I'm trying not to think about it," he said finally. "It does make me want to hate you forever... but somehow I sort of... don't think I'm entitled to that. Not when I was cheating on Hermione and you were cheating on Yakov. Maybe it was stupid, but..." He turned his head and peered across the few inches that separated his face from Harry's. "I'm sick of arguing with you. I miss you, I miss having you around. This whole summer's been terrible and the only time I felt even remotely human was when you were there... even when we were fighting, even when I was _so_ angry with you... at least that was emotion, you know? At least then I knew I wasn't some sort of... robot."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad you're not a robot."

"Me, too." Ron yawned loudly, making a noise that vaguely reminded Harry of a walrus. "I think what I'm trying to say," he said slowly, "is I don't want to focus on what happened before. Any of it, at all. Let's just start over again, from here, from right now. I trust you too much to let something like that get in the way. It was a mistake... we all make them... some of us more than others."

"Thank you," Harry whispered, thinking those two words were nowhere near good enough to express his feelings in that moment.

"I think we should go to sleep," Ron suggested after yawning again.

Harry rolled onto his back again, keeping a respectful distance between him and Ron. He was amazed at his ability to keep from kissing Ron when they were drunk and in the same bed.

"Goodnight," Harry said, closing his eyes and wondering how he had ever managed to be so lucky.

"Goodnight."

Harry opened his eyes again, surprised at how close Ron's voice was. He gasped as Ron's hand cupped his cheek and pulled him across the bed for a kiss. He struggled to keep himself under control; Ron was half-naked and in his bed, but he knew he had to hold back. He resisted putting his hand on Ron's bare chest, and sliding one of his legs between Ron's, and grabbing Ron's wonderful hair, and moaning loudly as Ron broke the kiss by tugging on Harry's lower lip with his teeth.

"Um," Harry said dazedly, trying to catch his breath. Ron moved in for another kiss, but Harry pulled back quickly. "We should sleep," he said, damning his own self-control. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to hold back, not when the temptation was so strong, and Ron was so close and so vulnerable. He wanted to possess Ron completely, but knew he would have to wait; Ron had said explicitly he wasn't ready for "physical stuff," and Harry planned to respect that until Ron said otherwise.

"All right," Ron whispered before kissing Harry again, this time more briefly. "Night."

"Night," Harry muttered, turning onto his side and facing away from Ron to avoid more snogging. Ron snuggled up behind him, tucking his legs in behind Harry's and wrapping one arm around Harry's waist. Harry closed his eyes and leaned back into Ron's embrace, not caring that he was already overheating. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to fall asleep in Ron Weasley's arms, and just then, he couldn't have been happier if he tried.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/kath_ballantyne/pic/0018ytf5/)

 

 

Harry woke up the next morning with his face buried in his pillow and a strange dead weight across his back. He lifted his head and saw Ron next to him on the bed, limbs flung out in every direction. Grinning, Harry rolled out from under Ron's arm and sat up.

"Harry," Ron muttered, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him back down. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said. He kissed Ron on the cheek, unable to contain the giddiness bubbling in his chest.

"Cuddle," Ron mumbled, pulling Harry even closer. Harry bit back a whimper of joy and scooted right up against Ron's side. He draped an arm and a leg across Ron's warm body, laid his head on Ron's shoulder, and sighed happily.

"D'you sleep well?" Ron asked, speaking into Harry's hair.

"I slept perfectly," Harry said, and it was true. Even though he knew he should have been hung over, he felt more well-rested than he had in days. "And you?"

"Like a baby." Despite Harry's weight, Ron arched his back off the bed to stretch. "I like waking up next to you," he said, sounding more alert.

Harry beamed into Ron's chest. "I like it, too."

Ron put two fingers gently under Harry's chin and lifted his head up for a kiss. Harry adjusted himself on the bed, turning onto his stomach, in order to kiss Ron better. Their lips moved sleepily against each other, teasing playfully, yet chastely.

"This is the best morning I've had in years," Ron said, breaking the kiss with a grin that nearly took Harry's breath away.

"Me, too," Harry whispered, staring at Ron's wet lips. He went in for another kiss and found that the mood had changed; Ron's hand on the back of his head had a tighter grip, and Ron's tongue was pushing against his with more urgency. Harry let out a groan when Ron shifted and he felt Ron's growing erection against his thigh. He had barely managed to wonder if Ron could feel his own quickly hardening cock when Ron answered the unasked question for him by reaching down between them and cupping his erection.

"Ron," Harry said sharply, pulling back from the kiss.

"What?" Ron asked innocently, his grin magnificently wide across his pink and freckly face.

"That's moving a bit fast," Harry said, unable to believe he was actually protesting Ron's actions. "I thought last night... you sounded like you wanted to go slow."

"This is slow," Ron said, squeezing Harry gently. Harry swallowed heavily. "We've already done this," he reasoned. "It's not new. It's at the same level. We're not moving forward at all, we're staying right where we were."

"You're ridiculous," Harry teased.

"You're the one trying to stop me giving you a handjob."

"Fair point."

"May I continue?"

Harry kissed Ron quickly. "I don't want you to do this just to please me."

"Oh, I'm not. I'm fully expecting you to please me right after I'm done pleasing you."

Harry chuckled. "You know what I mean," he said, trying pointlessly to stay serious. "Two weeks ago you wouldn't even let me kiss you sober, and now you're..."

"That was two weeks ago," Ron said quietly. "I've had a lot of time to think since then."

"I guess you have," Harry said, staring down at where Ron's arm disappeared under the covers. He kicked off the sheets and saw Ron rubbing him gently over his pants.

"If you don't want me to," Ron said hesitantly, his hand stilling.

Harry responded by kissing Ron hard on the lips. Ron moved both his hands to Harry's head and laced his fingers through the black hair there, holding Harry's head close to his. Harry moaned into the kiss and tried to break free for air, but Ron refused to let go of him. He was breathless and lightheaded; Ron was all over him, with hands in his hair, and a leg between his own, and shaggy ginger fringe hanging down from Ron's brow in his eyes. Ron was passionate and rough; any claims of hesitation or weirdness were disproven as he rubbed himself wantonly against Harry's thigh.

Finally, Ron moved his lips to Harry's neck and Harry gasped loudly for air, his hands scrambling for purchase on Ron's bare back. Ron's hands moved lower down and began tugging Harry's boxers down his thighs. Harry slipped his own fingers into Ron's briefs and gripped Ron's firm buttocks tightly. Ron lifted his head, gave Harry a sinfully wicked grin, and then sat up. He made short work of removing both his and Harry's clothing, then sat himself on top of Harry's thighs.

Harry leaned up slightly to run his hands over Ron's chest, newly obsessed with the way he could feel the muscles moving under Ron's skin, even though Ron's chest was a flat, pale expanse. Ron's fingers wrapped around Harry's erection, and Harry fell back on the bed, staring in amazement as Ron's thumb rubbed the underside of his cock's head. He closed his eyes and tried to tell himself to breathe; he didn't want this to be over too soon.

Ron's hand lifted off Harry's cock for a moment and Harry opened his eyes again. Ron was lining up his cock with Harry's, pressing them against each other and wrapping his impossibly long fingers around them both.

Harry let out an embarrassing whimper and Ron looked up, his face flushed completely red.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

Harry nodded enthusiastically, not trusting his voice. Ron flashed him a grin, then leaned down for a kiss as his hand began pulling on their cocks. Harry groaned mindlessly into Ron's mouth, the heat from Ron's body so close to his own entirely too much to handle.

Ron sucked obscenely on Harry's tongue and Harry squirmed, his hips barely able to move under Ron's weight yet still trying to thrust up into Ron's hand. Ron tightened his grip and began rocking his own hips, creating a delicious friction between their cocks.

Harry broke their kiss and pressed his cheek against Ron's, panting loudly in Ron's ear and trying not to come. He wanted to stay this way as long as possible, with Ron pressed up against him, desperately horny and unbelievably sexy.

Ron pulled away slightly, holding himself up on the bed with one hand as his other hand let go of his own cock to focus on Harry's. Harry immediately reached out for Ron's cock and pulled on it quickly, knowing he wouldn't last very long and wanting Ron to come with him.

Ron growled low in his throat and leaned down to lick across Harry's neck. "Switch," he said breathlessly, letting go of Harry's cock.

Harry paused, confused as Ron's hand pushed his own away. He looked down between them to see Ron wanking furiously. Biting back moans, Harry grabbed his own cock and stroked it in time with Ron, mesmerized by the sight and sound and feel of Ron doing something so intimate right on top of him.

"Gonna come," Harry gasped suddenly as the tingling heat from his slightly numb toes started traveling up his legs.

Ron pushed himself back up on his free arm and looked down at Harry. His eyes were a dark, misty shade of blue Harry had never seen before, and his face was as red as it had ever been. His sweaty hair was hanging in his eyes and his mouth was open slightly as he panted. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing anything more beautiful or more sexy, and that view alone made him come so hard that he shouted as the searing, painfully pleasurable heat ripped through his body.

Ron's lips were on his before he had even stopped coming. His groan against Ron's lips was met with an even louder one against his own. Ron dropped down onto his elbow as he came all over Harry's already messy chest. He buried his face in Harry's neck and moaned through his orgasm just as Harry started recovering from his own.

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered, putting a lazy hand on the back of Ron's head.

Ron gave a breathy laugh and looked up slowly, his whole body limp from exertion. He stared up at Harry as he tried to catch his breath, their eyes locked in sleepy, satisfied silence.

After a minute, Ron shifted up and off Harry, but before he could lie down, Harry was sitting up and kissing him sweetly.

"I wish I had words," Harry whispered, his hands holding tightly onto Ron's ribcage.

"Words are stupid," Ron responded, brushing his lips against Harry's still-flushed cheek. "Sex is better."

"Sex is way better," Harry agreed.

They leaned into each other, their noses nuzzled together. Harry sighed contentedly and wrapped his arms around Ron's thin waist, hugging his friend close to him.

"How are you feeling?" Harry whispered. He could practically taste the mood in the room change as Ron's shoulders tensed and he shifted slightly in Harry's grip.

"I wish I didn't have to leave," Ron said after a moment.

Harry kissed Ron full on the lips, trying to convey how he felt about the situation without using the words he didn't have. "You could stay for a while."

Ron shook his head sadly. "I have to go help George... we've got schedules hanging in the flat and everything. He'll dock my pay if we fall behind."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't sound like George."

Ron shrugged. "He's just... he really wants the shop open again. It gives him... you know, things to do, stuff to think about. It's good for him, I think... even if he has gotten a bit carried away."

Harry nodded and dropped his arms, letting Ron go. "I wish you didn't have to leave, either."

Ron got off the bed, grabbed his wand, and aimed it at Harry without saying anything. Harry glanced down and saw that the come-streaked mess was gone from his chest.

"Thanks," he said quietly, watching as Ron started to dress.

"I don't mind going back to George," Ron said pensively. "He already knows all this. I just meant..."

"I know what you meant," Harry said, getting up to put on clean clothes. "In any case, I'm glad George is doing a bit better."

Ron rubbed his eyes tiredly as he and Harry left the bedroom and headed for the front door. "Me, too. I hope it lasts... I think it will... now he's got things to occupy him."

"Do you mean the shop or our drama?" Harry asked, smiling teasingly.

"Both," Ron answered, grinning. "I'll see you later?"

"Of course."

"Good." Ron gave Harry a long, drawn-out kiss before leaving.

 

 

 

 

Harry spent the rest of Saturday attempting to concentrate on his studying, but found himself unable to sit still for very long. He was full of energy and couldn't stop thinking about Ron or how happy he was or how much more drama was probably headed their way.

It took all Harry's self-control not to owl Ron and invite him to spend the night again. By Sunday, however, he couldn't wait anymore; he headed over to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes first thing in the morning.

"Hello, lover," George said coyly as he opened the front doors for Harry.

Harry merely grinned and went past George in search of Ron and a good morning kiss.

They spent the day trying to finish developing George's newest idea, a sweet that would not only give the consumer a fever, but would be undetectable in a routine magical substance test. It was stunningly clear that George was the best among them at potions; he knew about many more ingredients than Harry and Ron combined, had the steadiest hand when it came to chopping or stirring ingredients, and seemed to know instinctively how much to add of what and when.

Harry was relieved the day went smoothly and without awkwardness. His friendship with Ron remained as close and cheerful as it ever had; the only difference now was much more significant eye contact and the occasional accidentally-on-purpose touching.

By dinner time, all three of them were sitting on the floor, staring moodily up at the cauldron they had been standing over for hours. They hadn't had much luck getting the magical ingredients to be undetectable; Ron was convinced they should try charming the sweets, but George was insisting, to everyone's frustration, including his own, that the answer lay in a potion. Harry had no bright ideas of his own and was getting sick of the bickering between the two brothers.

With a great deal more effort than it should have taken, Harry pushed himself off the floor and stood up to stretch.

"Do you fancy going out for dinner?" he asked as he reached out and helped Ron off the floor. Ron kept one of Harry's hands in his and Harry tried not to blush when George noticed.

"I'd love to get the hell out of this room. What do you say, George?"

George picked himself up off the floor and dusted his hands off. "No," he said, turning back to the cauldron. "Go on without me."

Harry glanced at Ron, who was staring hard at his older brother.

"Are you going to eat?" Ron asked pointedly.

"No," George answered flatly.

Ron let go of Harry's hand and walked moodily out of the work room. Harry lingered for a moment, his eyes on the back of George's head.

"Aren't you leaving?" George asked as he waved his wand and emptied the contents of the cauldron for the hundredth time that day.

"I will. Um... are you all right?"

"I'm fine," George said unconvincingly, walking over to the work bench and pondering the ingredients laid out there.

"You really should eat, you know," Harry said quietly, knowing it wasn't really his business. "You should come out with us... take a break from all this. We've been at it for hours."

"I want to get it right," George said harshly. "You don't understand. It never..." George put both hands down on the work bench and let out a frustrated sigh. Harry watched as his body sagged. "It's never taken this long before. I've been doing this for weeks." George voice was small and hurt, and Harry was suddenly filled with an urge to hug him. "I can't do this without him."

Harry swallowed nervously. He didn't know how to talk to George about Fred.

"Just go," George said, standing back up and snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

"I..." Harry tried to protest, but had no idea what to say.

"I said go!" George picked up a knife and began chopping more hellebore.

Harry left to find Ron standing in the middle of the shop, absentmindedly fingering his wand and staring at the front doors. Harry walked up behind Ron, wrapped his arms around Ron's middle, and rested his forehead on Ron's back.

"Don't worry about him," Ron whispered, covering one of Harry's hands with one of his own. "He has these moods sometimes. Best thing to do is just wait it out."

Harry nodded and nuzzled Ron's back, breathing in deeply to take in Ron's scent.

"Don't do that," Ron protested, turning around and stepped out of Harry's grip. "I've been sweating all day."

Harry shrugged, blushing slightly. Ron hadn't smelled bad to him; in fact, he'd found the scent quite comforting. "Let's just go."

Ron nodded and went to unlock the front doors.

 

 

 

 

For dinner, they decided against the Leaky Cauldron and went to a nearby Muggle restaurant instead. By the time their food arrived, Harry was sick of talking about his upcoming Auror training and all the reading he had been doing for it. He didn't want to ruin their dinner, especially since this was essentially their first date, but he had more important things to discuss.

"I was wondering if we could talk about... um, your plans," he said awkwardly during a pause in their conversation.

"My plans?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. You know... your – your plans. For... telling people... like Hermione... or your mum."

Ron swallowed and cleared his throat, lowering his gaze to stare intensely at his plate. "Erm."

Harry immediately felt bad for asking. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said quickly. "I was just curious."

"We can talk about it," Ron said quietly. "I don't... really have plans to tell them. I don't want them to know yet." He cleared his throat again. "I think I need more time."

Harry nodded. He was somewhat disappointed, but knew that he had no right to say anything. Until recently, Harry had never planned on telling anyone anything about being gay and knew it would be completely unfair to push Ron to come out before he was ready.

"I do want to tell Hermione first," Ron continued after a moment. "Before I tell Mum or anyone else, I mean. I think that might be the best way to go about it, but I really don't know... when that would ever happen."

Harry nodded again and poked at his food with a fork. "Do you think she'll hate us?" he asked, voicing this fear for the first time.

"Maybe," Ron said, sighing. "Probably. Hopefully not forever, though."

Harry took a bite of his dinner and chewed slowly, trying to imagine what their friendships with Hermione would look like after she found out everything. "What about your family? Do you think they'll all react like George?"

Ron laughed bitterly. "No. George... George doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone or anything right now. I think that's the only reason he's reacted so placidly. But... well, Mum won't be too pleased. She told us all ages ago that she and Dad 'wouldn't choose that lifestyle' for any of their children. I mean, look at us: outspoken liberals and blood-traitors and weirdos all around, but not a single queer. Not because there actually aren't any, but because no one would dare come out. Can you imagine Auntie Muriel's reaction?"

Harry sat in silence and tried to take all this in. He couldn't imagine Mrs. Weasley being so upset over one of her many sons being gay. She had far too much love to give to be so picky. Even when Percy had gone and betrayed and abandoned the whole family, she'd always hoped he would come home and was perfectly ready to forgive him and take him back at a moment's notice.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't even... I'm sorry."

Ron shrugged and took another bite of food. "They'll just have to deal with it, I guess," he said after he'd swallowed. "I don't want to hide this for the rest of my life. It's just not going to be particularly pleasant when I tell them."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Harry had always known Ron was brave, even if it sometimes took him a while to find his courage, but the fact that he was willing to risk the negative reactions of his family (his family that meant everything in the world to him) so that they would know about his relationship with Harry was somehow surprising and extremely reassuring.

They finished their meal in silence, each one lost in his own thoughts about the consequences of coming out.

"Do you want to... well, you've probably got to get up early to help George tomorrow, don't you?" Harry asked when his plate was empty.

"Yeah." Ron shrugged. "Do you have anything to do in the morning?"

Harry frowned slightly. "Well, I've got another appointment with my therapist..."

"So, you want to stay over in my room tonight?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised at the offer, even though he had been attempting to invite Ron back to his own flat. "Um... do you think that's a good idea? With George and everything, I mean... he wasn't very happy with me when we left."

Ron shrugged off the idea. "He's gotten over it by now. Sometimes, he gets overwhelmed by other people. He just needed time by himself."

"And... you think he'd be all right with me spending the night in his flat?"

"Definitely," Ron said, smiling. "He's told me so a dozen times."

Harry blushed, quite uncomfortable with and embarrassed by the idea of George discussing his and Ron's sex life.

Ron grinned at him across the table. "Come on, let's get the check so we can leave."

 

 

 

 

"Ron."

Harry shifted slightly, trying not to lose the warmth and happiness of the dream he had been having.

"Ron."

He curled up closer to the body lying next to him in bed, glad for its comforting heat and familiar smell.

"RON."

The body sat up and Harry forced himself to open his eyes.

"You're late."

"Sorry," Ron said croakily. "Must've forgotten to set the alarm."

"Well, get up," George said harshly. "I'll be downstairs."

To Harry's sleepy surprise, Ron bolted out of bed, naked, and chased after George. He stayed in bed and listened as they argued in the living room.

"George, calm down," Ron pleaded.

"You calm down! We have _schedules_ , Ron! The start of the work day is very clearly marked!"

"George," Ron said sensibly. "I forgot to set my alarm. I overslept. It's not a crisis."

"It is when you've chosen him over me. I'm your _brother_."

"I haven't chosen anyone over anyone else," Ron said calmly. "We were up late and I forgot to set the alarm. I'll get dressed now and be downstairs in five minutes. I want to help you, George. You know all this. We've been over it a thousand times. I didn't oversleep on purpose to spend more time with him. It was a mistake."

There was a moment of silence and Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling horribly guilty for keep Ron up the previous night. They had come back from dinner and tried to be considerate of the fact that George was right next door; they had snogged under Ron's sheets, pretending to try to be quiet and holding back as much as they could. In the end, however, they had given in to the temptation of blowjobs. Ron had never received one before, and he had been particularly loud during the one Harry gave him.

"Five minutes," George said warningly.

Ron came back into his room and closed the door, slumping back against it with a sigh.

"I have to get dressed," he said dully.

Harry sat up and stared at Ron's lanky, naked body, amazed that George hadn't said anything about his nudity.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He's just paranoid," Ron explained, going over to his dresser and pulling out some pants. "He'll get over it."

Harry forced himself to get out of bed and back into the clothes he had worn the previous day. "I'm sorry we overslept," he said awkwardly, zipping up his jeans.

"It's not your fault," Ron said, trying to smooth down his messy hair. "I have to go. Can you let yourself out?"

"Of course. I'll, um... I'll see you later?"

Ron smiled and moved across the room to kiss Harry. "I'll see you later."

They kissed again, and then Ron ran out of the room and down to the shop.

 

 

 

 

Harry left his appointment with Mr. Roberts feeling more than a little depressed; he had been forced to talk about Sirius and Remus the entire time. He wanted to go home and take a nice, long, hot shower, but Karl stopped him as soon as he'd left Mr. Roberts' office.

"Excuse me, sir," he said politely. "The Minister wants to speak with you."

Harry looked around, confused. "What, now?"

"Yes, sir. He cleared his schedule for a meeting with you."

"How nice of him," Harry muttered as Karl began leading him toward the Ministry.

Half an hour later, Harry found himself sitting in Kingsley's office, waiting impatiently for Kingsley to show up.

After ten long and boring minutes, Kingsley burst into his office, looked down at Harry, and grinned widely.

"Glad you could make it," he said, sitting down behind his desk.

"Did I have a choice?" Harry asked.

"No," Kingsley said cheerfully. "But I'm glad to see you, anyway. How have you been?"

"Um," Harry paused, wondering how much Kingsley knew about the state of things between him and Yasha or him and Ron. "Pretty good. How are you?"

"Extremely busy. I only have a few minutes to spare, unfortunately, so this will have to be brief. I just wanted to let you know that we caught the Death Eater who tried to break into your flat earlier this summer."

Harry frowned slightly. "I thought... didn't you catch him right when it happened?"

"No, not that one. Remember I told you about one who had tried to break in a few weeks ago? Back in... June, I think it was."

"Oh, right," Harry said vaguely. He had forgotten all about that.

"Well, we caught him. There's an interrogation going on as we speak. That's where I'm headed as soon as we're done, actually. If we get any information out of him, I'm going to work out a deal with Robards so you can join the search for the rest of the Death Eaters once you've started your training."

Harry perked up. "What, really? Do you think he'll let me?"

Kingsley raised one eyebrow. "I'm the Minister, Harry. I can make him let you."

Harry grinned. "That's brilliant, Kingsley, thank you."

Kingsley nodded, smiling. "Now, I'm afraid I must go down to ask this Death Eater some questions."

"Of course." Harry stood and followed Kingsley to the door. "Thanks, again."

"It's no problem. I'm really looking forward to seeing you start your training next week. I hope you're enjoying your last days of freedom."

"I am," Harry assured him. "I've been helping George and Ron get Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes ready to reopen this weekend, and I've been studying quite a bit, too."

"Studying?" Kingsley asked, pausing with the door half-open and looking back over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "I bought the seventh year Hogwarts books... I've been trying to teach myself some of the spells and things. It's not, you know, going _that_ well, but I thought... I might as well try."

Kingsley gave Harry a long, searching look, then beamed proudly at him. "You'll be an excellent Auror, Harry," he said before checking his watch and starting down the hallway.

Harry smiled widely and called after him, "Thank you."

 

 

 

 

Harry spent the rest of Monday reading _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ in his flat. He wanted to learn as much as he could before Auror training started, in case his instructor reacted the same way Kingsley had after finding out he had been studying on his own.

Tuesday and Wednesday, however, Harry spent at the shop with George and Ron. George was still working on the undetectable potion, but he was much farther along with the recipe now that Harry and Ron had stopped trying to help him. Instead, Harry and Ron were in charge of rearranging and restocking the entire shop. It was exhausting, boring work, but as Harry had decided not to have another sleepover with Ron too soon, it was the best way to spend time with him.

On Thursday, Harry was sitting on the floor and carefully placing brightly colored Pygmy Puffs into a cage near the front of the shop. They kept squeaking indignantly at him and he tried his hardest not to think about Ginny or the one she had owned.

There was a knock on the window above him and Harry looked up, shocked to see Hermione standing outside the shop. Before he could do or say anything, George was at the doors, unlocking them and letting her inside.

"You know we don't open until tomorrow," he said teasingly as she hugged him.

"I know," she said, stepping back and waving at Harry. "I'm doing my school shopping today, though. I just wanted to stop by and show my support."

"You're not coming tomorrow?" Harry asked, getting up and walking over to them.

"No," Hermione said, smiling. "I don't fancy dying in a mob of overly excited children any time soon."

"Smart girl," George said. "Do you want me to get Ron, or were you hoping not to see him?"

Hermione glanced briefly at Harry. "If... if he's here, I'll see him."

George nodded and went to get Ron out of the back room.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Hermione said to Harry.

"I could say the same thing," Harry responded, not looking forward to the moment when Ron joined them. He didn't know what was going to happen, but his stomach was already doing flips.

"I thought you said he still wasn't talking to you."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "We've made up, I guess. I've just... I've been helping George, mostly. I think he underestimated the amount of stuff that needed to get done..."

Hermione's gaze shifted to the back of the shop and Harry turned to see Ron walking toward them. He cursed George in his head for leaving the three of them alone.

"Hermione," Ron said awkwardly, clearly unsure if he should greet her with a hug or a handshake or nothing at all. "It's good to see you."

Hermione smiled slightly, her eyes focused on Ron's shoulder. "I just wanted to come and say how glad I am you're reopening the shop. I wanted to show my support. And... and my friendship."

Harry's mouth dropped open slightly and he looked away. He wondered why Hermione was doing this in front of him and felt he should leave to give them privacy. Ron, however, was staring hard at Hermione.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" he asked quietly. "If you've got time, that is. I'd like to talk... if it's okay with you."

Hermione nodded, looking surprised and slightly confused. Harry watched as Ron led her through the back room and up to George's flat, his heart sinking.

He turned back to the Pygmy Puffs and tried to occupy himself. His thoughts were racing; Ron was going to come out to Hermione, and she was going to know they were together. Why hadn't he ever told Ron he had already come out to Hermione? How could such a thing have slipped his mind?

"It's better this way," George said suddenly after a few minutes of silence, startling Harry into dropping a pink Pygmy Puff into the cage. It landed with a loud squeak and wiggled over to the other Pygmy Puffs, who were huddled in a brightly colored pile in one corner of the cage.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"It's better she finds out sooner rather than later."

Harry shook his head. "It's going to be a disaster," he said. "She already knows I'm gay. Ron doesn't know she knows I'm gay. He's going to say something stupid and she's going to figure it out and she's going to blow up the entire shop."

George coughed to cover up a chuckle. "I don't think she's that irrational, mate. Though, it was pretty stupid of you not to tell Ron that she already knows about you."

"I didn't do it on purpose," Harry insisted. "It's not like I was hiding it from him. It just... it never came up and I... forgot to tell him. Fuck." Harry sighed dejectedly and looked out the front windows, damning his own stupidity.

"See?" George said when Hermione suddenly appeared outside, walking quickly away from the shop. "She didn't blow the place up."

Harry moved to stand, but George put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to stay on the floor. "Give him a few minutes," he said quietly, then disappeared into the work room.

Harry finished transferring all of the Pygmy Puffs into the display cage as quickly as possible. When Ron still hadn't come back down to the shop, he went through the back and up to the flat, half-expecting Ron to be knocked out on the floor.

What he actually found, however, turned out to be much worse. Ron was sitting on the sofa, head in his hands, sniffing softly. Harry, his heart aching, sat down next to Ron, thinking he had seen his best friend cry far too many times this year.

Ron didn't look up when Harry sat down, but instead leaned into Harry, resting his head on Harry's shoulder and dropping his hands from his face.

"What happened?" Harry asked, putting a hand on Ron's thigh and thinking he really didn't want to hear the answer to his question.

Ron sighed shakily and sniffed again. "She yelled at me a bit," he whispered. "Told me how unfair it was that I'd... pretended to want to be with her when I really didn't." He rubbed one of his eyes tiredly and Harry squeezed his thigh. "I couldn't even say anything. It's not easy to explain... I _did_ want to be with her... at least, I _thought_ I did. I don't know. It was unfair, but... I didn't _mean_ to be unfair to her. I tried really hard." Ron sighed and sat back up, covering his face with his hands again. "Fucking stupid."

Harry rubbed Ron's back. "You're not stupid. Things happen... we've all made mistakes in this situation. It's better that people learn the truth."

"The truth." Ron laughed bitterly and lowered his hands again. "The truth is that I sucked you off before I'd ever even seen her naked. She knows something's up... she gave me the strangest look when I told her..."

Harry gulped. "I think... I think she might suspect. About us."

"How could she possibly suspect that?"

"She... she might have already known about me and Yasha."

Ron turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowed. "What?"

Harry drew his hand away from Ron's back. "I kept forgetting to tell you," he said quietly. "She knew about me and Yasha. She knew... she's known for a while. She saw us together once... um... and... I forgot to tell you."

Ron shook his head, his jaw clenched. "You should have told me," he muttered angrily. "I never would have done that, I never would have told her that way! Godric's balls, Harry!" Ron stood up and started pacing. "It was supposed to go in stages! _First_ , I was going to tell her I'm gay, and _then_ I was going to tell her I'm with you. She wasn't supposed to find out all at once!"

"Maybe it's better this way," Harry suggested in a small voice. "Saves the trouble of her being angry again later..."

Ron stopped pacing and slumped back down on the sofa with a loud huff. "I've fucked everything up, haven't I? You two are the only friends I've got and I've ruined things between you two and things between me and her... it wasn't supposed to happen this way."

"She would have reacted the same no matter how it happened," Harry reassured him. "It's terrible right now, yes. But we've... we've been through a lot together before, and... I think in the end, she'll come around. She has to." He said this more to convince himself than convince Ron, but Ron looked slightly heartened anyway.

"Promise?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly, knowing full-well he could promise no such thing. "I won't let this destroy our friendship with her. I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you," Ron said. "Even if you're just saying it, thank you."

"I'm not just saying it."

"Good."

Harry put his hand back on Ron's leg and Ron turned to kiss him. The kiss was sad and slow at first; they were both searching for comfort, not sex. However, as the kiss deepened and they shifted on the sofa to get closer together, the tone changed. Their hands were flirting with shirt hems and trouser waists, their lips moving wetly, frantically against each other.

"We should probably get back downstairs," Ron said breathlessly as Harry's hand moved to his fly.

Harry groaned, pressing his forehead into Ron's shoulder and looking down at the bulge Ron's half-hard cock was making.

"Come on," Ron whispered, pushing Harry gently away. "We wouldn't want another incident with George."

Harry glared at Ron and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Ron's fly. He scowled when Ron grinned at him.

"You're sexy when you're all turned on and frustrated," Ron teased.

Harry rolled his eyes and got off the sofa, not at all wanting to go back down to the shop. He knew they shouldn't abandon George to mess around in the living room, but that didn't mean he didn't want to do exactly that.

"It's not so bad," Ron said, pressing a kiss to the back of Harry's neck. "It'll just make you hotter for me later."

"What 'later'?" Harry muttered bitterly, opening the door to the staircase and heading down to the shop.

"Later tonight," Ron said quietly.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and Ron winked at him before going into the storage room.

 

 

 

 

"He's not going to get any sleep tonight," Ron said as he and Harry came back up to his flat later that night.

"I can't believe he finally managed it," Harry said admiringly. "It's going to be a huge seller."

"He's going to make himself sick. He hasn't slept in days... all he does is work on that bloody potion."

Harry glanced back at the door down to the shop, now slightly worried. "Maybe he's been sleeping in the work room," he suggested. "He hasn't been acting particularly sleep deprived."

Ron shrugged. "I guess. I just wish he'd leave it alone for five fucking minutes."

"He just wants the reopening to be a success," Harry said gently. "He's worked really hard on this undetectable thing... he deserves to enjoy it selling out tomorrow."

"That just means he's going to be up again all night tomorrow, making more for Saturday's crowd."

"Stop being so grumpy," Harry commanded. "Look on the bright side. If George is down there, we've got the whole flat to ourselves."

Ron paused for a moment, then looked up at Harry, a mischievous grin across his tired face. "Do you want to take a shower with me?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Fuck, yes."

"Come on, then." Ron held out his hand and led Harry through the flat and into George's tiny shower.

 

 

 

 

"He's still down there," Ron said moodily as he sat down on the edge of his bed.

"He wants there to be enough to sell," Harry said, leaning down to kiss Ron. "He's dealing with things the best he can, Ron. You just have to give him some space."

Ron reached out and pulled Harry's jeans to the floor without undoing the fly. Harry laughed and kissed Ron again, pulling him to his feet. Ron make quick work of removing his and Harry's pants as they kissed, then stepped back so they could remove their shirts.

"Why'd we bother getting dressed after the shower?" Ron asked, his voice muffled as he brushed his lips across Harry's bare shoulder.

"Would have been weird to eat dinner starkers," Harry reasoned, reaching around to grope Ron's arse.

Ron stilled as Harry's fingers slipped between his cheeks and Harry wondered if he'd pushed for too much. He started to pull his hand away, but Ron reached behind his own back and grabbed Harry's wrist.

"What did you do with him that you haven't done with me yet?"

Harry twisted his hand out of Ron's grip and stepped back. "Don't make this about Yasha. It doesn't matter what I did with him. I'm with you now."

"But I want to do something new," Ron said. "I want something to be a first for you, instead of always for me."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to play this game, Ron."

"It's not a game," Ron insisted. "I'm just tired of being the one who's learning."

Harry sighed. "You really want to know what I haven't done yet?"

"Yes."

"I've never rimmed anyone," he said, feeling himself go red. "And I've never been rimmed. Happy?"

"No," Ron said, looking confused. "I don't even know what that means."

Harry blushed deeper. "It... it means... licking someone's arse."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "What?"

Harry shrugged. "It... I don't know, it... people do it. I don't know. I've never done it."

"Well... I should hope not!"

Harry cleared his throat, deciding not to tell Ron that he was sort of turned on by the idea of rimming. "Well, that's what I haven't done, so if you don't want to do that..."

"That's it, then?" Ron asked sadly. "That's the only thing you never did with him? You... you had sex with him? And he had sex with you?"

Harry bit back a smile at how pink Ron's cheeks had just gone. "Oh, _that_. No, he... he never did that to me." His cock twitched at the idea of Ron doing that to him, and Ron's gaze fell to his waist at the movement. "Do you want to?" Harry asked weakly, his knees practically buckling at the predatory look in Ron's eyes.

Ron looked back up at Harry. "He never buggered you?"

Harry shook his head, smiling. "No. I wouldn't let him."

"But you'd let me?" Ron asked, his eyes wide and bright, as if it were Christmas morning.

Harry nodded, his cock twitching again. "If you want to. We don't... we don't have to do it right now. I know you want to go slow, and... we've barely got the hang of blowjobs. We could keep doing that..."

"I don't want to wait," Ron said quickly, stepping closer to Harry and wrapping his wonderfully long fingers around Harry's needy cock.

"I do," Harry said quietly yet firmly. Ron looked up at him, surprised. "I want to wait," Harry forced himself to say. "I want to do that with you more than anything in the world, but I don't think right now is the best time. You just... you've just come out to Hermione and you're upset about George and... you're still too jealous of Yasha. I don't want either of us to be thinking about him when we have sex, and if we do it right now, that's what's going to happen."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry cut him off with a kiss.

"My arse will still be yours after tonight," Harry whispered against Ron's lips. "Maybe you've decided against taking things slow, but I haven't. I don't want to rush this, I want to do it right. There's still so much more we could do that isn't this. I don't want to miss out on the exploration phase just because I was too horny and you were too jealous to wait."

Ron smirked. "The exploration phase?"

"Shut up. I'm being serious."

"I know. I think it's sexy."

Harry laughed. "You're absurd sometimes."

"I know," Ron said again. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

"I do love it," Harry said quietly. "I love it a lot."

Ron finally let go of Harry's cock and moved his hands to Harry's hair instead. They kissed fiercely, Harry pressing himself tightly against Ron's body and trying to melt into him.

"We can wait," Ron said when they pulled apart. "Let's get the hang of blowjobs, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning and pushing Ron down onto his bed.

 

 

 

 

Friday morning passed as a blur to everyone. George woke up Harry and Ron far too early, fed them a hastily made breakfast consisting of toast and scrambled eggs, forced them both to put on official Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes robes, and then dragged them downstairs to do last-minute chores.

The shop wasn't meant to open until nine o'clock, but people started queuing up outside before eight. By nine, Ron was looking more frazzled than Harry had ever seen him, but George was looking almost radiant. He had a huge, beautifully genuine grin plastered across his face as he finally unlocked the doors for the large crowd of customers. Harry and Ron manned the registers as George mingled and showed off his newest creation, Undetectable Unbeatable Unfathomable Fever Fudge Pills. The potion hadn't been able to produce an actual sweet, but George had remedied that problem by flavoring the pills with chocolate and declaring himself satisfied.

At noon, the crowd shrank slightly as customers left to find food. Harry and Ron were already exhausted, even though they had done nothing but stand and collect money all morning. Harry decided to take a break from the monotony by checking on the Pygmy Puffs he had caged the previous day. As he approached the front of the shop, however, what seemed to be a small army of gingers burst in through the doors. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Ginny all entered the shop and went straight for George, who was looking mortified.

Harry laughed and tried to blend into the shelves, not too keen on being seen by Mrs. Weasley or Ginny. Eventually, however, the Weasley clan stopped fawning over George and Ron and directed their attentions to the merchandise. To his dismay, Mrs. Weasley was the first to spot Harry lurking behind the Pygmy Puff cage.

"It's so good to see you, dear," she said, hugging him tightly. "I've been so worried about you."

"Worried?" Harry asked as she released him. "I've been fine, Mrs. Weasley. Good, even."

She beamed at him. "I'm so glad to hear it. I haven't seen you in weeks. I was afraid you'd turned into a hermit."

"No," Harry said, smiling. "I've been keeping myself busy. Helping out here a lot, you know."

"I'm so glad to hear it," she repeated, hugging him again. "And I'm so sorry things didn't work out between you and Ginny. I was upset at first but..." She let go of him and smoothed his hair down affectionately. "Sometimes these things just aren't meant to last. I want you to know, I'll always think of you as my son. My door's still wide open for you, for anything you ever need."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, too surprised to find words to voice how much he appreciated what she had just said. "Is Ginny... how's she doing?" he asked.

Mrs. Weasley's broad smile faltered slightly. "She's fine, dear. She'll get over it eventually. She's a strong girl. There are plenty of other fine wizards out there... just as there are plenty of other fine witches out there for you."

Harry forced a smile, now wondering if she really did mean what she was saying, or if she was still upset but pretending not to be for his sake. She squeezed his hand and made to turn away and Harry made a quick decision before she left.

"Actually," he said, and she turned back to face him. He continued on, not wanting to give himself time to back out. "There's something... something I'd like to tell you, something I want you to know about me... sort of related to all this..."

Mrs. Weasley smiled encouragingly and Harry took a deep breath.

"Um... I'm gay," he managed, somewhat embarrassed that it had come out sounding like a question rather than a statement. He exhaled slowly, trying to look confident and sure.

Mrs. Weasley stared blankly at him, as though waiting for him to laugh and say he had been joking. When he said nothing, her expression shifted into one of shock. "I had no idea," she said quietly. "I – I don't even know what to say."

Harry smiled nervously, unsure what to do.

"Thank you for telling me," she said a moment later. "I know it's not always easy to talk about these things, especially... to your ex-girlfriend's mother. So, thank you, Harry... it was very kind of you to let me know." Her voice was slightly vague, her expression still confused. "You're very brave... you always have been. I hope... one day, this leads you to happiness."

She gave another smile, a small, heartfelt one, before turning away again and leaving him to his thoughts. Harry wasn't sure what to make of her reaction; had she just been too stunned to voice her real opinion, or was she actually accepting him that easily?

Feeling that it really didn't matter, and that only time would tell how the Weasley family was truly going to respond to recent events, Harry returned to the registers with a smile on his face.

 

 

 

 

After promising George to sacrifice Pig if he was late the next morning, Ron was allowed to go to Harry's flat after work that evening. They made chili together, Ron mostly reading the recipe out loud to Harry, and Harry doing most of the actual cooking. Harry didn't mind, though; it was easier to have Ron reading to him than to constantly be looking for the next step and worrying about getting food all over the cookbook.

Eventually the chili was made and they sat down at Harry's kitchen table to eat it.

"I should probably tell you something," Harry said as Ron took his first bite.

"Did you secretly piss in this?" Ron asked after swallowing. "Even if you did, I'm so hungry I might not even care."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit disgusting."

"I know," Ron said, taking another bite. "So, I really hope you didn't piss in it."

"I didn't," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "But I _did_... come out to your mum."

Ron stopped chewing and looked across the table at Harry. "You did _what_?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by all the food in his mouth.

Harry tried to smile innocently. "I came out to your mum. It just sort of happened, earlier, at the shop... I... I thought you should know."

Ron swallowed roughly and put down his spoon. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked angrily. "Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Ron, you're overreacting," Harry said, trying not to let his own temper flare up. "She was fine with it, honestly. It was like... a total non-issue for her. She said she was surprised and hoped I was happy and... and that was pretty much it."

"Of course, she'd say that to you," Ron spat bitterly. "You're not her bloody son, you're just..."

"Just what?" Harry asked rudely, daring Ron to insinuate he wasn't part of the Weasley family. "For your information, when I told her, she'd just finished telling me she'll always consider me her son, even though I broke up with Ginny."

Ron glared at Harry. "Good for you, then. She's happy you're a queer. Let's go out and have a drink to celebrate."

"Ron!" Harry sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. "Look, I'm not... I'm sorry if you didn't want her to know, but she does now and there's nothing I can do to change that. She's the closest thing I've ever had to a mum of my own, and I wanted her to know. I didn't do it to force you to come out to her. I did it because I wanted to."

Ron shook his head. "Well, you did it. Thanks for letting me know, I guess. You could have fucking asked before you came out to my fucking mother, though."

Harry sighed again. "I told you, it just happened. I didn't... I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry if you're upset by it, but... I just wanted to show you that coming out isn't a total crisis. It's not as bad as you're thinking it will be. Her reaction will probably be a bit different for you, but... you'll never know for sure until you do it. No one has reacted nearly as badly as I thought they would... not you, not your mum, not Kingsley, not Hermione..."

"Kingsley?" Ron asked, apparently too distracted by this to stay angry.

"Yeah... actually, while we're on the topic, you should know there's a pretty good chance he already knows about us as well. And all the Aurors who follow me around."

"Oh, good," Ron said, slumping in his chair. "Anyone else I should know about?"

"Um... Yasha guessed, too... when I broke it off with him," Harry said guiltily. "None of them are going to tell anyone, though. I'm pretty sure the Aurors are under some sort of privacy oath or something... and I've asked Kingsley to keep his mouth shut as well, especially to your parents."

Ron took a deep breath and looked down at his chili. "I'm not hungry, anymore."

"You should eat," Harry said quietly. "We've had a long day. Come on, it's really not so bad."

Ron picked up his spoon and stirred his chili. "Do you think... do you think she'll tell Ginny?"

"I fucking hope not," Harry said, grabbing his own spoon again. "Do you think she will?"

Ron shrugged and took a bite of his dinner. Harry followed suit and they finished eating in relative silence, too distracted by their thoughts to talk.

As they started cleaning up the dishes, an owl flew in through Harry's open living room window. Ron went to take the scroll off the owl's leg as Harry stacked dishes in the sink.

"Um."

Harry looked over his shoulder in time to see the owl fly out again.

"It's from Hermione," Ron said, sounding a bit scared. He held the scroll out and Harry walked over to take it from him.

_Dear Harry (and Ron),_  
I realize now I've been very foolish to think that your friendship would always remain platonic. There has been a special bond between you two for years and it was silly of me to ignore it.  
I'm sorry for leaving the way I did the other day. I was and still am upset. I wish we all could have been honest with each other from the beginning. Maybe that would have saved us from all the pain and drama that has been going on for the past couple of weeks.  
I want you both to know I love you very much and, somewhere deep inside of me, I am happy you two are together. I hope you manage to make the relationship last, but even if you don't, I hope you manage to stay friends afterwards. I, too, would like to stay friends with both of you. I'm not ready to see either of you just yet, but I want to let you know you can't get rid of me that easily. I have harsh words for both of you, next time I see you. Until then, think of me fondly and know that, even though I'm hurt, I could never, ever hate you.  
Thank you for finally letting me know the truth.  
Love always,  
Hermione 

Harry read through the letter, then handed it over to Ron, grinning.

"Wow," Ron said a few minutes later, after he had read the letter several times. He looked up at Harry, smiling disbelievingly. "Wow."

Harry nodded and stepped forward to kiss Ron. "Hermione's amazing," he whispered, smiling against Ron's dry lips.

"She is," Ron agreed. "She's too good for us."

"She is _far_ too good for us," Harry said, wrapping his arms around Ron's neck. "We don't deserve her at all."

"No, we don't."

Ron dropped the letter and looped his arms around Harry's middle, crushing the smaller man against him.

"I love you," Ron breathed into Harry's hair.

Harry nibbled playfully on Ron's collar bone. "You're really awful at taking this slow," he teased, somewhat surprised his heart hadn't exploded out of his mouth when he had opened it to speak.

Ron chuckled and kissed Harry's forehead. "I don't care. I've loved you for years. I just didn't realize it."

"I'm not sure that makes sense," Harry said, pulling back slightly to look up at Ron. "But I really don't care, either."

"And?" Ron prompted, his grip on Harry loosening slightly.

"And I love you," Harry said, sure his face would break with the intensity of his smile.

Ron chuckled again, then leaned down for a kiss. Harry dug his fingers into Ron's hair and crushed their lips together, not caring that it was sloppy and awkward and wet and a little bit breathless.

"Need you," Ron said roughly, grabbing Harry's waist and walking backwards toward the bedroom, practically dragging Harry with him. Harry went willingly, his hands scrambling to undo both their trousers and his lips still firmly attached to Ron's. Ron struggled slightly to open Harry's bedroom door, but once inside, he collapsed onto the bed.

"Need you, too," Harry said breathily as he fell on top of Ron and then lavished kissed on Ron's ears, neck, and face.

"Harry," Ron pushed him away and stared up at him, his eyes slightly unfocused.

"Ron."

Ron swallowed and Harry watched the bob of his Adam's Apple.

"Tell me we're going to get through this."

Harry placed a gentle kiss on the tip of Ron's long nose. "We're going to get through this," he whispered. "It might be difficult, but it's entirely possible."

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," Harry said, smiling. "Don't ever doubt it."

"I won't," Ron said, lacing his fingers through Harry's black hair and pulling him closer. "I love you, too," he murmured against Harry's lips before kissing them.

 

 

 

 

**-Almost One Year Later-**

"This is stupid," Harry said as Ron dragged him down Diagon Alley. "I don't like parties."

"You're a terrible liar," Ron said, tightening his grip on Harry's wrist and quickening his pace. "You're going to the party and you're going to have fun. It's your birthday, for fuck's sake. Act a bit happy, will you?"

Harry smiled, glad Ron wasn't looking at him, and started dragging his feet a little less. "You'd better get out of the habit of bullying me like that," he said grumpily. "In a month, I'll be your boss."

"You won't be my boss," Ron protested, shooting Harry a dirty look over his shoulder. "You'll be a second year trainee. I'll be a first year. Not a single Auror in the department is going to consider you to be my boss, so get that idea out of your head right now."

Harry pursed his lips to keep from laughing. "Do I really have to go?" he asked, enjoying Ron's exasperation.

Ron stopped suddenly and Harry walked into him. Ron rounded on him. "A lot of people have put a lot of time and energy into throwing this party for you," he said darkly. "If you ruin it, I won't have sex with you for a month."

Harry laughed before he could stop him. Ron's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You're faking. You stupid bastard!"

Before Ron could storm off, Harry grabbed his arms and pulled him in for a kiss.

"I'm only teasing," Harry said quietly, holding Ron tightly in case he tried to escape. "I don't want to spend my birthday with anyone except for you, but I know you and George put a lot into doing this for me, so I'll go, and I'll enjoy myself."

"You'd better," Ron said threateningly.

"And after it's all over," Harry continued, one hand slipping around to rest on the small of Ron's back, "you'll take me back to my flat and fuck me silly. Deal?"

Ron's eyes flashed as his hands moved to give Harry's bottom a quick squeeze.

"Are you going to embarrass me horribly in front of all our friends?" Ron asked as they started walking again.

"Only because I know you're planning on doing the same to me," Harry answered, reaching out for Ron's hand and lacing their fingers together.

Ron grumbled a response as they reached Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Harry gave Ron a skeptical look when he saw that the shop was dark and empty.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, pulling out his wand to unlock the doors. "It's supposed to be a surprise. Um... pretend you don't know anything about it."

Harry smacked Ron on the back of the head. "Idiot."

Ron kicked Harry in the leg as they went into the shop.

"Where's George?" Ron asked loudly.

Harry bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing as the shop was suddenly lit up and dozens of people poured out of the back room and from behind display cases.

"SURPRISE!" they all shouted.

Harry did his best to look shocked.

Ron stayed close by as friend after friend after friend approached Harry to wish him a happy birthday. Harry was grateful for this, as he felt very awkward trying to make small talk with so many people in rapid succession and it helped to have another person nearby to signal the end of the conversation.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Yasha said brightly when he'd finally made it through the crowd. "I've brought you some pryanik."

Harry took the box gratefully, remembering how delicious it had been on his last birthday. "Thanks, Yasha," he said, hugging the man tightly. "It's so nice of you to come."

"It's so nice of Ron to invite me," Yasha said, grinning at Ron, who smiled back. "I'm glad to see you are still together now. You make a lovely couple."

"As do you and Winston," Harry said teasingly, laughing at Yasha's blush. "Is he here?"

"He's getting drinks," Yasha explained. "Apparently there's lots of vodka."

"There he is," Ron said, looking over Yasha's head.

"For the Birthday Boy," Winston said as he approached, carrying the stems of four wine glasses between his fingers.

He handed two of the wine glasses to Harry and Ron. Harry took his and looked suspiciously at the orange liquid inside. "This isn't wine, is it?"

"No," Winston said, handing another glass to Yasha. "It's a screwdriver."

"Excellent," Harry said.

"To Harry," Winston said, holding up his glass.

"To Harry," Yasha and Ron repeated.

The four men clinked their glasses together and then drank out of them.

"Shit," Harry said, coughing as the vodka burned his throat. "That's strong."

Winston laughed. "Yeah, George is getting a bit carried away over there. Your friend Hermione was just yelling at him for it when I left."

"You mean flirting at him," Ron corrected. Harry stepped on his foot.

Winston grinned and took another sip of his screwdriver. "I hear you'll be joining us next month," he said to Ron as he curled an arm around Yasha's waist. "Looking forward to it?"

"Definitely. Oh, bollocks, there's Ginny."

Harry stepped on Ron's foot again as Winston and Yasha ducked away and Ginny pushed her way up to them.

"You're a hard pair to find," she said, brushing the hair off her face. "Why're you hiding in the corner?"

"Trying to avoid you," Ron teased.

"Try harder next time," she said before turning to Harry. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Gin," Harry said, stepping forward to hug her. "Thanks for coming," he said quietly.

She smiled up at him as they broke apart. "It's no problem. What's that?" she asked, indicating the box Harry was holding.

"Oh, it's this... um... I've forgotten the name. Some Russian treat Yasha gave me. Gingerbread and honey, if I remember correctly."

"Sounds pretty good."

"It is. You should come over tomorrow," Harry suggested. "We can eat it over tea."

Ginny grinned. "I might just take you up on that."

"You definitely should," Harry called after her as she walked away.

"I think she's finally forgiven you," Ron whispered in his ear as they watched her leave.

"About time," Harry muttered before taking another sip of his drink. "It's been a year."

Ron nuzzled the back of Harry's neck for a moment before kissing it gently. "Happy birthday," he whispered, his warm breath sending a shiver down Harry's spine. "I love you."

"I love you more," Harry said, turning to give Ron a kiss. "Your mum's coming this way."

Ron straightened himself up and took a large gulp of his screwdriver, shuddering as he swallowed.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley smothered him in a hug. "Happy birthday, dear! Are you enjoying yourself? I know you don't like parties."

Harry shot Ron a pointed look before smiling at Mrs. Weasley. "I'm having a good time," he assured her. "George's drinks are quite strong."

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. "Yes, well... I've got a present for you at the Burrow, if you want to come over for it tomorrow. We can have cake!"

"Oh, um, well, I think Ginny's coming over to my flat for a bit tomorrow, but maybe I can come back to the Burrow with her after that."

Mrs. Weasley beamed and hugged him again, apparently too happy for words.

"I can't believe you said that to her," Ron said admiringly as his mother retreated into the crowd. "I thought she was going to strangle you with joy."

Harry smirked and finished off his screwdriver. "How long do we have to stay here?" he asked, picking a random shelf and setting the empty wine glass on it.

"You're terrible," Ron said, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Harry's jeans.

"I'm horny," Harry corrected him. "And I want my birthday sex."

"You'll get it. Just don't drink too much."

"I'll drink as much as I want," Harry said, pulling the wine glass out of Ron's hand and downing the rest of his screwdriver. "Ugh." He pulled a face. "Someone should really teach George how to make a proper drink."

Ron shifted up on his toes to look over the crowd. "Hermione's helping him," he said, rolling his eyes. "Those two are ridiculous."

"Maybe they'll get drunk and confess their love for each other tonight," Harry suggested.

"If George keeps making the drinks, they're more likely to get drunk and vomit in each other's faces."

"That's a pleasant image."

Ron grinned. "Come on, let's go bother them." He pulled the second empty wine glass out of Harry's hand, set it on the shelf next to the first, and started to head toward the makeshift bar.

"Wait," Harry reached out and grabbed Ron's hand, pulling him back.

"What's up?" Ron asked, frowning slightly at Harry's suddenly serious face.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Harry said quietly, running his fingers through Ron's hair.

"For what?"

"For all this. I didn't want you to think I'm ungrateful. I do like parties and I am having a good time."

"You're a terrible liar," Ron teased. "But, you're welcome, anyway."

Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around Ron's neck as Ron leaned down to kiss him.


End file.
